


In The Hand

by aideomai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Female Draco Malfoy, Female Harry Potter, M/M, Multiverse, Veela Draco Malfoy, a few more dracos, feat. - Freeform, lots of harrys, oh and a jazz singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aideomai/pseuds/aideomai
Summary: Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast.





	In The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> hiya!! first thing's first, this is very obviously inspired by spitandvinegar's utterly brilliant Captain America work, [Except It Abide In The Vine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910536), so all credit to that wonderful fucking story for the idea and the general format of lots of the same people hanging out. 
> 
> secondly sorry i wrote this instead of the last chap of dwelling, i will write the last chap of dwelling, just, u know

Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast.

Ron looked surprised. Hermione was surprised, too. Even Malfoy seemed kind of surprised at himself, though mostly he had the same old hunted, peaked expression as ever these days. In their return to Hogwarts, Hermione had thought that everyone looked somehow younger - fresher, more open, eyes dark and certain but with all of the stress and the tension of the war gone - except Malfoy, who was worn down and grey. He kept to himself. He stuck to the sides of walls and corners of rooms. He arrived early to classes and left late. He was so obsessed with keeping tabs on himself, restraining himself, that after the first few months of ugly comments and mini duels sparking up, everyone else stopped bothering.

Everyone except Harry, who had been working himself well into a new Malfoy obsession right up until the moment he disappeared. Hermione hadn’t been inclined to treat him at all seriously until then; now, she eyed Malfoy with distrust and dislike. They hadn’t been able to tie anything to him, but she couldn’t help feeling terribly responsible. If she’d only listened to what Harry was saying, if she’d only followed him on another of his mad hunches, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Ron hadn’t agreed; he’d thought it was a coincidence, and that Malfoy didn’t have “the brains _or_ the balls” to do anything to Harry. He still gave Malfoy an unpleasant look and said, “What do you want?”

Hermione folded her arms, Ron solid next to her.

Malfoy’s mouth twisted; he darted a look over his shoulder like he was afraid someone was listening in. 

“I got this,” he said, and shoved a crumpled piece of parchment at them. “Late last night. I didn’t - I don’t understand it. I thought maybe _you_ might.”

Hermione took it reluctantly, running her thumb over a hastily smeared broken red seal. She said, “What is it?”

“Open it,” Malfoy said, folding his arms. Unwillingly, Hermione flipped it open, and then her breath caught; it was Harry’s handwriting, scrawled and only half-legible and unmistakable.

“Oh my God,” she said, and Ron leaned over her shoulder.

The letter was short. In its entirety, it read:

_Draco--_

_It’s you, right? Is it you? What are you at Hogwarts for? I’m sorry, I’m trying to lay low and it’s taken me a week to work out what’s going on in this fucking place. I’m on my way. See you soon. Kisses!!!_

_HP x_

Hermione stared. She read it again. She stared some more.

“I, uh, I don’t get it,” Ron said. “Is this a joke?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said, voice tight with disapproval. “I hoped _you_ would tell me that.”

“This makes no sense to me,” Hermione said, reading it rapidly a fifth, sixth, seventh time. “This has to be some sort of prank. It’s awful. That’s not how Harry _talks_!”

“It’s, uh, it’s sort of how Harry talks,” Ron said. “Except for, you know, the--”

“Kisses,” Hermione repeated disbelievingly. “ _Kisses_.”

“ _None_ of it is how he talks to _me_ ,” Malfoy snapped. “So it makes no sense at all. So - fix it!”

“What do you want me to do, Malfoy?” Hermione said, glaring at him. “It sounds like you’ve got him under the Imperius Curse or something!” Malfoy scoffed, starting to turn away, and Hermione grabbed his elbow and said, “No - tell me! When did you get this exactly? What carried it? What did you do?”

“I opened it, I stared at it, I wrote it off as some new bullshit of yours and decided against barging into the Gryffindor Common Room at 3am to tell you about it,” Malfoy said, glaring right back. “ _Dreadfully_ sorry about that. And - Merlin, I don’t know, it was that big white owl of his, I don’t care!”

Ron stared. “Hedwig?”

“That’s impossible,” Hermione said.

“All of this is impossible,” Ron said. “Hang on--” and he snatched the letter off her, read it through again. “He says he’s on his way. Hermione, look at the Map.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, a little uncertainly, but she took the Marauder’s Map out of her bag anyway, unfolding it carefully. When Harry first disappeared, she spent hours every day pouring over it; now she’d forced herself to drop back to an hour a day split into ten minute increments, to save her sanity and the crick in her neck.

When she unfolded it this time and held it up, her eyes raked over the familiar lines eagerly, but it was just as full of students and empty of Harry as ever. Her shoulders slumped.

“Wait,” Ron said, “there!”

He stabbed the far right corner of the Map, and as Hermione stared, a tiny dot labelled _Harry Potter_ appeared. It was on the very outskirts of the castle, and moving in fast through the grounds. Hermione’s heart pounded.

“Let’s go,” Ron said, grinning, and Hermione crumpled the Map up, not even bothering to keep it to its proper folds, and started with Ron in a run towards the Great Doors.

“I’m coming with you,” Malfoy said impetuously. “I want to hear what the hell he thinks he’s playing at,” and Hermione was in too much of a desperate, hopeful hurry to argue with him. 

The three of them charged outside and across the grounds, breath coming hard and misty in the cool morning air. Hermione felt shivery and ill with excitement, with fear - what if it wasn’t him, what could it all mean, where could he possibly have been. She felt shaky and close to stumbling but Ron was by her side, steady and tall, and even Malfoy seemed a tentatively welcome figure. Hermione was breathless. She started laughing, helpless and uncontrollable, stumbling to a stop, when suddenly a short, familiar figure became clear crossing the grass to them past the Whomping Willow.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, teeth chattering, and grabbed on Ron’s arm to steady herself. They didn’t need to run anymore: Harry was doing that, picking up a jog, coming swiftly towards them, and then he was close enough for Hermione to see his grin.

“Harry!” she and Ron cried as one, and Harry laughed too and put on a burst of speed and ran -- right past them, to where Malfoy had stopped, panting, and hung a little further back.

“What?” Malfoy said, and then Harry had Malfoy in his arms, and dipped him like they were star-crossed actors in a play. He leaned down and kissed him as though their lives depended on it.

Ron made a hoarse, choking noise. Hermione drew her wand on instinct and then stood staring, not really sure what she was meant to do with it. In Harry’s firm hold, Malfoy’s arms were windmilling crazily.

Harry pulled away with a breathless noise and said, “ _There_ you are.” Then he frowned. “Wait. That’s not you.”

“Let me _go_ ,” Malfoy said, voice gone all high and astounded, and when Harry did he promptly sat down hard on the grass and looked flabbergasted and very pink.

“Uhm,” Ron said. “Mate?”

“What,” Hermione said dangerously, “is going on?”

Harry turned around and scruffed one hand through his hair and something strange sank into place: unconsciously echoing, Hermione said, “Wait - that’s not you.”

Now she was looking at him properly, she could see it wasn’t Harry - or at least, wasn’t _her_ Harry. He looked older for one, at least two or three years older and maybe more. And he was -- though it felt weird to think, for Hermione had always privately felt that Harry was an attractive guy -- _very_ attractive. It was like someone had taken Harry’s looks and turned them up to nine: this twenty year old Harry looked like a movie star, his hair just as dishevelled as ever but somehow groomed, his skin clear and dark, his eyes brighter than ever, his jawline sharp. His nose looked crooked in a way Harry’s wasn’t; he had freckles down sharp cheekbones that Harry didn’t have. Hermione felt oddly warm just looking at him. She took Ron’s hand for reassurance.

But Harry was staring at her, too, and shaking his head. He sighed. “None of you guys are right,” he said. “I guess it’s just me, then.”

“Just you who what?” Ron said, staring. “Mate, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look _great_ today.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, and flashed them all a movie star smile. “And I mean it’s just me who’s travelled.”

“Travelled… where?” Hermione said. On the grass, Malfoy was staring at his feet and looking as if he hoped very much the Whomping Willow would relocate and kick up a bit of a fuss.

“To this world,” Harry said helpfully. “Your world. It’s not mine, I’m not meant to be here. No offense,” he added, when he saw their stares, “I’m sure it’s very nice.”

\---

The new Potter was chattier than the one Draco was used to. He talked a lot, and he played with his hair a lot, and he kept _looking_ at Draco. Which would be fine, really, because Draco had kind of gotten used to all the Potter glowering and skulking about and sneaking up on Draco after class and asking stupid, hinting questions about what Draco was up to later like he just had to hit on the right combination of words to make Draco say _oh, planning my take over as the next Dark Lord_ or even the truth, probably something along the lines of _getting to the next class without being cursed so that I can graduate so that I can go back to lying around the Manor and trying not to think about Voldemort or my parents or the shithole that my life turned out to be_ , instead of his usual standard fare of _nothing, go away_.

The problem was that this Potter wasn’t giving him suspicious or dark looks; it was this constant fond _gaze_ , and he kept turning back to Draco every time he made a joke and quirking his mouth up. He made a lot more jokes than the normal Potter, too, and none of them were very good. Draco made the mistake of loosening his school tie and Potter’s lips parted and his gaze went all hot and hazy and when Draco made a rough choking noise Potter just shook his head and laughed, like it was all a big joke.

Also all the kissing from before. Obviously that was a little different to what Draco was used to from Potter as well. He glowered in the new Potter’s direction, who smiled sunnily back at him. He was wearing a long coat that was too big for him, rolled up at the wrists, and he had a strange, intricate little orb that he kept throwing up in the air and catching. Typical of a Potter to treat something clearly special with such arrogant ease. 

“Right,” Granger said faintly. “I just don’t - explain it again. There are different worlds, and -- I mean, I’ve read the multiple universes theories, I just--”

“I don’t think the _theory_ is the important point here, Hermione,” Weasley said faintly. Draco sneered. Big surprise there, Weasley wasn’t into the schoolbooks. “So you’re saying that you’re in our world and our Harry is in yours--”

“Sort of,” the new Potter said. “I don’t know where your Harry is. It’s not just two worlds. It’s a bunch of them. And all the Harrys and Dracos have gotten mixed up. Are you sure you’re the right Draco here?” he added, turning to Draco, who scowled at him.

“Yes, thanks very much,” he said.

“Why is it, um,” Granger said. “Why is it affecting all the Malfoys, too?”

The other Potter looked a bit embarrassed. “Uh, well, I think it’s our fault,” he said. “Mine and Draco’s. My Draco, I mean,” he said, with a slightly apologetic look at Draco, who scowled more. Potter didn’t seem to care. “We found this weird device out on patrol?” He waved the orb in the air again. “And we were going to take it in, but we thought we’d just take a _little_ look first, and then, like, big clap of lightning, I ended up in this weird world where there was another me, only he was Australian. Like the Dursleys had moved out there to try and escape magic? I don’t know, very weird, and I don’t know where Draco was. He must have ended up somewhere else, and I managed to find out how to navigate around a bit but it’s -- tricky, sort of, it’s hard to find out what’s going on. I think a focus might help? I thought my Draco might be here, but it doesn’t look like it...”

Weasley said, slowly, “Out on patrol?” as though that was the important bit, but the new Potter just beamed at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re Aurors. Partners, you know.” 

“You and Malfoy,” Weasley said.

Potter preened a bit. “Aurors of the Year three times running,” he said, “our case record is unbeatable,” and dropped Draco a wink. Draco’s scowls weren’t seeming to have any effect, so he tried a sneer instead, but that just made Potter’s grin widen. He said, delighted, “Oh, you’re so cute here.”

Weasley made gagging noises. Draco said, furious, “How dare you.”

“Sorry!” the new Potter said. “Sorry, I mean, you’re just all -- young and grumpy--”

“How do you know your Malfoy isn’t here?” Granger interrupted. “Maybe he got dropped somewhere else? In, like, Antarctica or something?”

Potter shook his head. “I’ve been here a week. He’d have found me.”

“But maybe if he doesn’t know what’s going on either--”

“He’d have found me,” Potter said again, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Anyway, look, I better get going. If I find your Harry I’ll send him back. It was nice to meet you all! Cheer up,” he added to Draco, still glaring at him from the grass. “It gets better after school. Or it did, in our world.”

“I don’t care about you or getting better or your world,” Draco said instinctively, and ruthlessly thumbed down the tiny little green sprout of hope in his heart. This Potter was clearly most of the way insane.

“Wait,” Granger said suddenly. “If you need something of his to help find him... Mightn’t we count?”

Potter blinked. “What?”

“Us,” Granger said, with that jolly old Gryffindor can-do determinism. Draco rolled his eyes. “We’re from his world, surely we could help link to him? Or we have some of his things -- the Marauder’s Map--”

“That might work,” Potter agreed, a little slow. “Are you sure you want to? You’re - you’re all still schoolkids--”

“We’re eighteen,” Weasley said, chin jutting up. “We followed him to a war. You think we’re not going to follow him to another world?”

Potter grinned at him, clapped his shoulder. “No, mate,” he said. “I know you would,” and Weasley grinned back, looking a little startled but pleased all the same. Potter nodded. “Okay, then, you lot,” he said, “everyone come over and grab onto each other,” and Weasley grabbed Potter’s elbow and then Granger took Weasley’s hand, and Draco stood up to wander off back to the castle, good riddance to the whole bloody lot of them, except Potter met his gaze and held out his hand.

“What?” Draco said.

Potter looked surprised. “You’re not coming?”

“ _What_ ,” Weasley said.

“I’m,” Draco said, and trailed off. “I. No?”

“Of course he’s not,” Granger said tightly. “I’m not sure what kind of strange Draco Malfoy you’ve got in your world but this one’s a - a Slytherin and a coward--”

“My Draco’s a Slytherin,” Potter said. “And he gets frightened a lot. Doesn’t stop him doing what’s right.”

“How is me pitching in to find _Harry Potter_ what’s right?” Draco snarled. “I’m not hugely interested in his welfare, sorry. You’ve got the merry gang, I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine--”

“Draco,” Potter said, looking surprised. “Come on. It’s not the same without you.”

For once, Draco found himself struck speechless at the same time as Granger and the Weasel. It was an unfortunate feeling.

Potter looked uncomfortable; he flushed. “I mean,” he said, and looked away. “Sorry. I get that you’re not -- him. My Draco. But it’s -- you seem similar. And I’ve got used to him having my back.”

Draco stared at him. Finally, voice strangled, he managed, “Did the Dark Lord not exist in your world or something?”

Potter laughed, not entirely happily. “No, he was about for a bit.”

“For a--”

“Harry,” Weasley said. “Look, sorry, I get that your relationship with the Ferret is, uh, different, but we really need to find our Harry, and and trust me, this Malfoy is too much of a coward to--”

“Fuck _you_ , Weasel,” Draco snapped, furious. “Like you know anything about me. I’m in,” he added, and then he strode forward and grabbed the other Potter’s wrist, and Potter beamed and said, “Great!” before Draco could fully process what he’d done, and then everything went dark.

\---

Hermione’s vision came swimming back to her between gulps of air, her hands braced on her knees, Ron’s shoulders heavy against her and his breathing loud in her ears. It was strange: not an unpleasant feeling, exactly, but a very overwhelming one, like she was a kid seeing how long she could hold her breath again.

When she straightened, rubbing grit out of her eyes, she realised they were standing at the top of a hill in a bright, green world, woods behind them and rolling fields ahead. Something felt immediately off: it took her a moment to realise that there was no birdsong, but beyond that, no sound of wind, no rustle of leaves, no crack or tiny wriggle of small living things. Aside from their own heavy breathing, it was entirely silent.

Ron gasped, “Blimey.” Malfoy made a small noise, pale and drained of colour. Only the new Harry - the Auror Harry, she couldn’t help but think of him, which made sense; in some strange way he reminded her of James Bond - seemed mostly unaffected, hair ruffled and otherwise normal.

Hermione looked around. “Is this another world?” she asked, nervous.

“No,” the Auror Harry said. “As far as I can tell, this is the place between the worlds. It’s very…” He paused, then laughed self consciously. “Remember Narnia?”

Hermione laughed, too, almost wildly. This felt like a return to magic, the way she hadn’t felt since she was eleven: something new, alien, incredible. “The Wood Between The Worlds.”

“Exactly.”

“What are you two talking about?” Ron said weakly.

“Yes,” Malfoy said, still looking sick but voice acerbic as ever, “because the name isn’t perfectly self-explanatory.”

“Shut it, Draco,” Ron said, though with no real anger behind it. Of all of them, Ron had seemed the most unmoved by Malfoy on their return to school. He called him _Draco_ without hesitating, and was, for the most part, entirely uninterested. He wasn’t obsessed with wondering what Malfoy was up to, like Harry was, nor unable to move past a stony grudge comprised of seven years of bullying and hatred, like Hermione - a little embarrassed - found herself to be. He seemed, when he talked about Malfoy, almost sympathetic sometimes. But he’d told Hermione, up late and tired one night, rambling on about nothing because they were too exhausted to properly think but didn’t want to leave each other for bed yet, that mostly he just felt like Malfoy didn’t matter anymore. And then he felt bad for thinking that.

Just remembering that conversation made something warm and grateful flood through Hermione, and she quietly took his hand. Ron smiled at her, eyes very bright and blue.

“All right,” Malfoy said, voice sharp, pointedly ignoring Ron. “So how do we get to the next place, then?”

“Get ready,” Auror Harry said pleasantly, twisting the orb somehow, and the world span in circles again.

This time when they landed Hermione found it easier to catch her breath, and the world - though obviously not hers - was understandably a _world_ again. There was noise and a train whistle blowing and people shouting and trolleys scraping over pavement. They were, she realised with a pang of pleasure, standing at Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Harry didn’t look so pleased. He made a face and dragged them all behind a pillar. 

“Too many people,” he said, nose scrunched up, “we’re bound to get spotted--”

“I, uh,” Ron said. “I think we have been.”

“Oh my god,” Harry said, sounding a little faint of breath. He started half-heartedly thwacking Malfoy’s shoulder, which gave Hermione another start, no matter how different he was to her Harry. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Malfoy said, sounding irritated. “Stop pawing at me. What - is that my mother?”

For a moment, Hermione thought it was a young Narcissa bearing down on them, too. But then she blinked and refocused; this girl was taller than Narcissa, her hair bound back in a tight blonde plait that fell straight down her back and a sharp chin. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but there was something commanding and sure and entitled about her, and she was perfectly groomed, perfectly dressed, perfect from head to toe without a hair out of place.

She stopped a foot away from them and said, sneering, “ _Another_ Potter. I assume this is your fault, then?”

“Oh my god,” Auror Harry said again. He seemed incapable of anything else, gaping like a fish. 

“Is that,” Ron said faintly, “is that--”

“Girl Malfoy,” Hermione said, barely able to believe it herself.

Girl Malfoy looked down her long nose at them and said, coolly, “Astute as ever, Granger.” She looked at Draco, and raised her eyebrows. “Hello. This is odd.”

“Hello,” Draco said, eyeing her up with veiled interest. “Take a bit more after Mum, do you?”

“I suppose,” she said. “You’ve got Dad’s eyes,” and he nodded. Hermione realised slowly that the Girl Malfoy’s eyes were different - so dark they were almost black, fathomless and colder than Draco’s.

“What’s your name?” Harry said, hushed, sounding almost overcome.

“Good to see you’re as moronic as ever, Potter,” she said. “Draco Malfoy.”

Ron giggled nervously.

Malfoy rounded on him, her eyebrows drawn sharply together. “Think my name’s funny, do you, Weasley?” she said. “Sorry my parents put a little more thought into it than yours. You were so far down the line, they were probably just pulling them out of hats.”

Draco laughed. Malfoy looked pleased.

“Um, Harry,” Hermione said. “Should we be doing something?”

“What?” Harry said. He had the weird, dazed look that Hermione remembered, with a sinking feeling, from the Cho Chang days. “Oh! Uh - yes. Is, er, is this your world?”

“Very smooth,” Draco said crisply.

Girl Malfoy examined her nails for a moment, looking bored. “Obviously not,” she said. “As though I’d bother chasing after you, otherwise.”

“Are you - how do you know?” Ron asked. He looked quite thrown, too, a little timid. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Men._

Malfoy looked similarly unimpressed. “First off, because there was a giant flash of lightning and then I woke up in a _different world_ ,” she said, and added grudgingly, “Plus everything’s different, here. And the Potter here’s a boy. And he’s white.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, somehow more surprised by that then by the girl Harry thing. She supposed girl Harry made sense, in a world with girl Malfoy. “Really?”

Auror Harry made a face. “Can’t imagine that,” he said, and then, “Okay! Let’s get back to the Wood, and then we can get you home, I guess.”

“Thank Merlin,” Malfoy said tartly, and they all whirled away again.

\---

Back in the Wood, Potter tried to explain how they’d get the Girl Draco home, had to make eye contact with her to do so, promptly walked into a tree, and then mumbled some excuse that meant he had to duck off into the trees for a little while.

Malfoy - it was easier to think of her like that - turned her cool gaze on Draco. It was a little unnerving. A version of himself. Still, she seemed to have things right.

“This Potter is an idiot,” she said. “He has no idea what’s going on, does he?”

“I think he’s making most of it up as he goes along,” Draco agreed. “He seemed very authoritative at first, but he’s getting less and less impressive.”

Malfoy sneered. “As if Potter is ever impressive,” she said, and gave him an odd look. “So. You’re… boy me.”

“I suppose,” Draco said. He eyed her curiously. “Or you’re girl me.”

“Or both,” she said. She darted a quick look at Weasley and Granger, who were a few steps off and talking in low murmurs, heads bent together. She shrugged one shoulder. “Those two just as pathetic in your world?”

“I imagine,” he said. “I don’t pay that much attention.”

“One wouldn’t want to,” she said. She was slightly posher than him, Draco thought, which was a weird, unfamiliar feeling. “And that Potter isn’t from your world?”

“No,” Draco said. He shifted from foot to foot. “He’s strange.”

Malfoy raised her eyebrows, sharply defined against her pale brow. It was very odd, looking at her. She was taller than him. “Potters are always strange. You should have seen the one in the world I was just in. Complete dullard. Couldn’t string two words together. Used ‘er’ like punctuation.”

“No, I mean,” Draco said, and then found himself blurting it out, because no one was _mentioning_ it and it was awkward and awful and surely he had to be able to say it to himself, a version of himself: “I think him and the - the us in that world are friends. Or - more. He thought that I was _his_ Draco, and he kissed me.”

Two high spots of colour appeared in Malfoy’s cheeks and she said, icily disapproving, “Oh, _disgusting_. That’s foul. You poor thing.”

“I, uh,” Draco said, and then, because it was easiest: “Yes.”

“I thought he was looking at me strangely,” she said, still pink. “He’s clearly a pervert. Foul.”

“Right,” Draco said. He was relieved, he supposed. “So the - the Potter in your world and you--”

“Don’t be revolting,” she said sharply. “She’s an idiot. She’s the most self-righteous, full of herself little twit. Oh, Saint Potter, saved the world and now the universe revolves around her. Make way, lesser beings, the Golden Trio is passing through--”

“Right, yes,” Draco said, and shuffled his feet. “That sounds like my world too. Except for the girl thing.”

“Well, yes,” she said. They stared at each other for a moment. She smirked. “Bet your hairline is going to recede like Dad’s.”

“Shut up,” Draco said, instinctively raising his hand to his hair, and they smiled at each other.

Obviously, though, Potter walked back in and ruined all that.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about it and I think the best thing to do is gather up all the wrong Harrys and Dracos, and get them here, and then we can distribute them back to their own worlds. So if you can just stay here, uhm,” he said, addressing Malfoy and flushing a little, “we’ll go round and get the others.”

“What,” Malfoy said, furious, “like a _camp_?” 

Weasley groaned. “Well,” he said. “This is going to be fun.”

\---

It was bizarre. They moved quickly, skipping from world to world, so Draco almost got the hang of it, the breathless feeling dissipating. They picked up a Potter whose lightning scar took over most of his face, and who looked sheepishly apologetic under it; a Potter with a battered leather jacket who’d never heard of Draco and said, vaguely, “Oh, Malfoy, like the ones who were put in Azkaban in the last war?” and then eyed Draco disdainfully when Draco snarled; a Potter who had his father’s eyes and his mother’s hair, and looked like nothing so much as an Indian Weasley.

The other Dracos should have been better, but the Potters were depressing him and the Dracos discomforted him and Draco felt weirdly put off and glum about the way they had to basically separate the Wood into a Malfoy area and a Potter area, otherwise everyone started yelling at each other and trying to throw curses, which, Auror Potter said in a panicked voice, the Wood did _not_ like. In fact, the Wood didn’t like magic at all: every time they tried the silence seemed to intensify, dampening and deepening around them, until Potter said it was safer if everyone just put their wands away.

It didn’t make things better when they landed in a deserted Slytherin Common Room and a Draco - rather prettier than Draco himself, but pointier too, which Draco hadn’t thought was possible - looked up and said archly, “Ah, at last. I take it you are ‘ere to take me ‘ome?”

Granger and Weasley fell about laughing. Draco made a choking noise. Auror Potter frowned and said, “Are you… French?”

“I would zink zat would be obvious,” French Draco said. “I ‘ave been stuck in zis disgusting school for a full week waiting to get back, and it is ze summer holidays so zere is no one to even ‘ear my complaints. Ze House Elves’ cooking is heavy and disgusting and will ruin my figure. It is a _disastair_. What are you laughing at?” he added coolly, glaring at Weasley, who was too busy holding onto Granger’s arm and gasping for breath to respond.

“Okay, well, awfully sorry about that,” Auror Potter said, though his mouth was twitching a little too. “We’ll get you back as soon as possible. I’m Harry Potter, or a version of him, you must know me.”

“I do not zink so,” French Draco said, looking unimpressed. He frowned. “Oh, wait, ze badtempered little Eenglish boy? Yes, I remember ‘im from ze Triwizard Tournament. A preening idiot.”

“Right,” Auror Potter said, and, with a sigh, “Come on, let’s stick him with the others.”

“Ze others?” French Draco said, sounding horrified.

When they got back to the Wood between the Worlds, French Draco made the same to do about the whole situation that the others had, and the frown between Auror Potter’s forehead deepened. Draco didn’t care about him, but he privately agreed and turned away, dispirited.

“This is endless,” he said. “I don’t know why we’re wasting our time.”

Granger glared at him. “We have to get them back to their real worlds. How would you like it?”

“There’s got to be an easier way than this,” Draco said.

Auror Potter said, “I keep thinking that, too. It all happened at once, we should be able to correct it at once. But I can’t -- I can’t work it out, it’s not my type of magic -- I need Draco--”

Draco blinked.

Auror Potter looked almost kind. “Not you,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Draco cleared his throat. “I wasn’t.”

“Good, then,” Auror Potter said, looking exhausted, and led them off to pick up another three Dracos who hated him.

\---

Hermione was getting tired, the day progressing in an odd, shadowy way here in the Wood. Auror Harry was grim-faced, though, grubby from slogging through a dozen different worlds and unwilling to call it a day. He might not have been her Harry but she knew him well enough to know this expression, that grim stubbornness, that refusal to stop.

When they arrived in a sunlit, pretty world she almost wanted to stop and stay, coax him into sitting down and relaxing with her and Ron for a moment, letting them take it easy. But there was, as ever, a Malfoy in this world, sitting on a rock, looking bored, and Hermione geared herself up for another unpleasant battle.

Except that this Malfoy looked up, face lighting up, and said, “Harry, thank God.”

Hermione froze, as much from the _God_ as from _Harry_. Auror Harry looked startled. He did a double take, and took a hesitant step forward, half-smiling.

“Well, hi,” he said. 

“I assume you’re here to get me out of here,” the new, sunny Malfoy said. He still had the same fine, overbred, aristocratic tone, but he was smiling, a real smile. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Malfoy smiling like that. She ducked a glance at the one from her world. His gaze was shuttered, his lips compressed tightly.

“That’s the plan,” Harry said. “Look, I’m not the Harry from your world--”

“Thank you, I know that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “And you’re not the one from this world, either, who is even grumpier than I remembered. It’s like I’m back at _school_.”

Harry took another few steps forward, still smiling nervously. “Yeah, I’ve had a whole day of that. Weird. I, er. We get on in your world, then?”

“Mm,” Draco said. “You could say that.” He held out a hand, imperious, and after a moment Harry came forward and took it, let Draco haul himself up on it. Then Draco slung his arms around Harry’s neck, pressed his face against Harry’s hair, and said, muffled, “Sorry, I need a hug.”

“No,” Auror Harry said. He sounded almost breathless. “That’s fine. Hi,” and he turned his head and kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth, just lightly, like a welcome.

“Better not,” the new Draco said, grinning as he stepped back. “Mine’s possessive. It’s nice to see a version of you that doesn’t hate me, though.”

“You have no idea,” Auror Harry said fervently.

The new Draco looked over at the real Malfoy and said, eyebrows raised, “This your world, then? You look sour enough.”

Malfoy folded his arms over his chest tightly. “No.”

“We haven’t found his Harry yet,” Auror Harry said, and waved a vague hand at Ron and Hermione. “Their Harry.”

“Right,” the new Draco said, nodding affably at Hermione and Ron, which was another weird thing. “Okay, well, no problem. We’re -- we’re all going back home, though?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I promise.”

“Great,” the new Draco said, and put his hands in his pocket. He was in his mid-twenties, Hermione thought, but he looked young, boyish, as though he’d never been touched by a war. He smiled, crooked and pleased. “I can’t be late. I’m getting married in June.”

Harry beamed. “ _Are_ you.”

The new Draco winked at him.

\---

Because the new Draco seemed as strange as Auror Harry, Hermione couldn’t quite resist sidling up to him when they were back in the Wood, once everyone had dispersed and Auror Harry had gone off to try and find some food and the real Draco (as she couldn’t help thinking of him) was sulking in a corner with girl Malfoy.

“Hey, Granger,” he said, cheerfully enough, and looked her up and down. “You look young.”

Hermione bristled. “I’m eighteen.”

“That’s what I mean,” the new Draco said, smiling. It was odd. “You’re still a teenager.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” he said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And you and Harry Potter are getting married?”

“That’s right,” Draco said.

“So in your world there was no war or fighting and you guys always got on--”

“Merlin, no,” Draco said, and laughed. “We spent half of school wanting to kill each other. He was such a little prick,” he added, only he sounded fond. It was bizarre. Hermione stared and Ron edged up to them. Draco’s smile died, as he looked over at the real Draco, and said, “It’s sad they didn’t work it out. Your Harry and Draco, I mean. Did--” he paused, almost nervous. “Did Harry and me not make up in that world or something?”

“What?” Ron blinked.

“In first year,” Draco continued. “After the troll?”

“The troll?” Hermione stared. “I was the one who got attacked by the troll.”

Draco stared. “No kidding? But why? They liked _you_.”

“Not -- not in first year,” Hermione said, slow. It was odd to remember. “Or not the beginning, at least. We were all friends right off in your world?”

“Well, we never hung out with you much,” Draco said, looking a little guilty. “Sorry! It’s just you and Longbottom were always off saving the world--”

“Me and _Neville_?”

“Why is this so weird?” Draco asked, laughing a bit. “He couldn’t have defeated Voldemort on his own.”

Hermione and Ron froze. Over the new Draco’s shoulder, she saw the real Draco’s head jerk up, and, across the clearing, Auror Harry turned towards them, eyes wide.

“Hmm,” Draco said. “I’ve said something odd. Neville didn’t defeat Voldemort in your world?”

“Worlds,” Auror Harry said, taking a few uncertain steps towards them. “I mean. He helped.”

“Right,” the new Draco said. “So who did?”

“Harry did,” Hermione and Ron said together.

Draco blinked. “But what about the prophecy?”

Hermione felt like she’d missed something very important. “Who -- who was the Boy Who Lived in your world?”

“I keep telling you,” Draco said. “Neville.”

“Ah,” Auror Harry said gently. “So that’s where we went different.”

“What?” The new Draco turned, looking confused, and then his eyes narrowed in on Harry’s forehead and he went pale. “I -- _you_? But what about -- how could you have been? The Boy Who Lived was an orphan--”

“Oh my god,” Hermione said faintly, reached out and grabbed Ron’s hand. The colour drained from Harry’s face, and over new Draco’s shoulder, the real Draco looked fascinated and fixated, like a rabbit in headlights.

The new Draco’s hand went up to his mouth; he was quick, smart in an instinctive way that Hermione didn’t associate with Malfoy. “No,” he said. “I -- no. Lily and James?”

“Oh,” Auror Harry said. His voice was rough. He cleared his throat. “You know them.”

“You guys are joking,” the new Draco said, standing up, face white. “This isn’t funny--”

“How many of the rest of you were the Boy Who Lived?” Auror Harry asked, turning towards the grumbling group of Harrys and raising his voice, and they all looked slightly bored and raised their hands. 

The new Draco stumbled backward, until he was leaning up against a tree. “They’re -- they’re _dead_?” he said. “In all these other worlds? They--”

“You really know them?” Ron said, staring.

“You and I spent most of our summers round there!” Draco said accusingly. “It was the three of us, you and me and Harry, they -- they took us in, when the Burrow was too crowded and when everything was -- was terrible with my parents--”

Auror Harry was staring at him, hungry. “They like you,” he said softly. He hunched down in his coat, the collar flipped up against his neck. “That’s - that’s nice.”

The new Draco laughed, almost hysterically, and Hermione had found his placid cheeriness discomforting, but it was worse to see it shattered. “No, they hated me,” he said. “I mean -- me and Harry were best friends, we were kids, we met on holiday, and then they found out that I was a Malfoy, and Harry stopped talking to me, and, and -- and the troll -- and then it was a secret for years -- and then in sixth year--”

The real Draco made a nervous gesture, running his hand through his hair.

“I mean, they got used to me,” Draco said, and licked his lips. “I won them over. I guess. They’re -- they’re really--”

“Yeah, no,” Auror Harry said. “I never knew them.”

“Neither did ours,” Hermione said. “Nor any of them,” she added, gesturing towards the motley group of Harrys who were all watching the new Draco with the same blend of hostility and curiousity.

“But they’re,” Draco said, and swallowed hard. “But they love him so much.”

Auror Harry drew in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Look, it’s okay. Are you hungry?”

It surprised Hermione, how bad it felt, the way new Draco was subdued and tragic looking after that, sitting quiet next to Auror Harry around the bonfire they built, with all the other Malfoys and Harrys sitting in carefully segregated groups and eating pots of stew that Auror Harry had produced from somewhere. She laid her head on Ron’s shoulder, and he stroked her hair twice, quick and reassuring.

“Makes sense though, doesn’t it,” he said, low. “That the only world they’d be getting married in is the one where Harry didn’t have to live through all that. I suppose it makes it easier to swallow the Death Eater crap.”

Hermione nodded mutely, and looked forward to sleep.

\---

The first Draco they picked up the next morning snarled and went for Draco’s throat.

Draco yelped and fell backward, and the other him made another terrible sounding cry and lunged again, except Auror Potter and Granger managed to wrestle him back, gasping. Draco got a proper look at the newest version of himself as he was coughing and said, “Oh, uh. Interesting.”

He’d heard that Veela blood ran through the Black family line, but he’d never so clearly been presented with evidence of it. This Draco was dazzlingly beautiful, if Draco said so himself; all of the slightly too sharp angles of Draco’s own face had shifted and fallen into something mesmerizing and glittering and beautiful, his lips perfectly shaped and soft, his hair falling platinum and shining in charming disarray, his body long and lean and elegant, slight muscle shifting in a way that Draco couldn’t dream of. It was both pleasing and a bit of a confidence shock; for every time Draco might have been slightly pleased with how he looked, the Veela Draco was here to show him how very lacking he was.

“ _Mine_ ,” Veela Draco hissed. He shook Granger off like she was nothing, wound his arms around Potter’s neck, and started purring into his ear.

“... uh,” Draco said again.

“Oh,” Potter said, and for a moment he looked pleased and then he turned and looked at Veela Draco, currently nuzzling at his ear, and said again, “ _Oh_.” His pupils went huge and black almost comically fast, his mouth parting.

Weasley was staring at Veela Draco looking hungry, which was frankly alarming, and Granger wasn’t making eye contact.

“Why, Draco,” Weasley said, leaning in towards Veela Draco. “You’re -- you’re so beautiful--”

Draco scrambled up in alarm. He wasn’t going to watch Weasley hit on any sort of version of himself, it was too, too disgusting. “Granger!” he said. “Control your boyfriend!”

“Right,” Granger said hurriedly. “Ron!” She tugged on his hand insistently, while Veela Draco wound his arms around Auror Potter’s shoulders and nuzzled in at his hair, his neck, touching him in a way that was, frankly, very inappropriate.

“Oi,” Draco said. “Weird me.”

Veela Draco looked up, his eyes narrowed and pitiless. “Stay away.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Draco said. “He’s all yours.”

“Yes,” Veela Draco said, sounding satisfied, and then, slowly: “No. Wait. No.” He was tragic. “Where’s mine?”

“Your -- Harry?” Granger squeaked.

“He’s not here,” Veela Draco snarled. “They came and took me away and they didn’t take him--”

“Who?” Auror Potter said, and moaned when Veela Draco ducked his head and dragged his teeth over the line of Potter’s throat, which was a mental image Draco could have done without, thanks.

“No one,” Veela Draco murmured, kissing the red scrape he’d left behind. Auror Potter was taller than the real Potter but he looked small right then, shivering and leaning back, giving himself up into Veela Draco’s arms. It was very alarming. “Nothing. The dark. Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of it--”

“Yes,” Auror Potter breathed, turning in the circle of Veela Draco’s arms. His head fell forward, like his neck didn’t have the strength to hold it up, and he pressed his face against Veela Draco’s shoulder. Draco could see his shoulders rising and falling, like he was taking an enormous breath.

“ _Potter_ ,” Draco said, ignoring the way Veela Draco spat at him like Draco wasn’t worthy of saying Potter’s name. “Don’t you think that sounds like the exact thing we’re trying to rescue people from?”

“Oh,” Potter said. “I -- yes -- you’re right -- _Draco_ ,” as Veela Draco’s hand curled possessively over Potter’s hip.

“Merlin,” Weasley said nervously. “Let’s all get back, come on, Malfoy,” and Draco scuttled in to pinch Weasley’s sleeve fastidiously between a finger and thumb as everything went dark again.

“Wait,” Granger said, panicked into the darkness, “what’s he going to do when there’s like ten other Harrys?”

They came blinking into the early morning light of the Wood. Veela Draco looked slowly over at where the ten Harrys were gathered suspiciously together, watching him.

He brightened, so beautiful now that he was practically shining. “Mine?”

\---

It was a bit of a relief, after that, to pick up a load of normal Potters and Dracos. The sneering and snarling was depressing, but at least it wasn’t Inappropriate Touching levels of uncomfortable, and also it was -- Draco would admit -- mildly entertaining watching each of the new Potters stumble out into the Woods and immediately be charmed or seized by Veela Draco. Entertaining in that it was hideously embarrassing for all of them, and Granger kept crying, “Oh, we should do something to stop this,” only technically Veela Draco wasn’t doing anything wrong, just had them all settled in a little group and then zoomed round them in circles like a large, beautiful sheepdog. As a strategic decision Draco couldn’t really understand or approve of it, but he did admire its success. And anyway, nothing could be done, because every time Auror Potter tried to approach him, he ended up all dazzled and had to sit down and gulp in some fresh air for a bit and determinedly not look at Veela Draco at all.

The group grew, and grew, but Auror Potter shook his head every time they got back and Granger wondered how much longer this would take, where her precious Potter was.

“We’ll find him,” Auror Potter said. He looked tired again. “It would be faster if Draco was here. My Draco. He’s more of the - he fixes this sort of thing.”

“What,” Draco drawled, bored, “and you just charge into danger?”

Auror Potter flashed him a grin. “Pretty much,” he said. “Reckon you can work it out?”

“No,” Draco said.

“You’re eighteen,” Potter said. “You’ve fixed the Vanishing Cabinet by now--”

“ _No_ ,” Draco repeated, while Granger and Weasley looked all cold and furious for a moment. It was horrifying, having Potter bring it up, having Potter bring it up like it might be an asset. It sent Draco right back to sixth year, head swamped with misery and fear, heart rabbiting in his chest, wondering every day if he’d wake up to the news that his mum was dead. And worst of all, the terrible kernel of joy in the middle of that awful, hungry year: because he’d been good at the cabinet. He’d been fixing it. He’d been good at something, at last. His dad would have been proud. And all it had led to was an old man on the top of the tower, Dumbledore grey-faced and subdued, and Draco weak as ever.

Potter kept looking at him. He looked almost disappointed. It was awful. Draco wanted to yell at him - how dare Potter expect good things of him? Draco didn’t care what kind of maniac Potter had in his world. Clearly there was a whole realm of insane Dracos, ones who married Potters and Veela ones and French ones and - well, the girl Draco was all right. Draco still couldn’t believe he was being found _lacking_ compared to some version of his own self. 

“Fine,” Potter said, “come on, then,” and Draco unwillingly reached out again, let himself be sucked into some new world.

This one was dark, and cold. They were in a long corridor, cold grey stone and dim lighting. It felt vaguely familiar to Draco, but Granger and Weasley were drawing in instinctively closer, shivering a little, and Potter looked concerned, shoulders tightening, eyebrows drawing together.

“What is it?” Draco said, his voice echoing weirdly in the cold empty stone.

“Nothing,” Potter said. “Only... my scar hurts.”

Fear flashed through Draco, and across Granger and Weasley’s faces. Potter just stood there, serious and careful in the grey light.

“Come here,” he said at last, and reaching into his ever-present backpack shook out a cloak that grew, and grew, and grew. “Let’s all get under this.”

“The Invisibility Cloak’s never that big,” Weasley said, a little awed, as they all huddled under it.

“We made some modifications,” Potter said, and the four of them started to shuffle quietly through the great hall. As they walked, Draco caught sight of a portrait and remembered abruptly why this place was so familiar.

“Potter,” he hissed. “Potter, I know where we are--”

“Me, too,” Potter said, voice low. “It’s Lestrange Abbey.”

Granger and Weasley pressed even closer together. They were holding hands, white-knuckled. Draco swallowed around something pressing tight in his throat.

“Come on,” Potter said, and they went on quietly through the Abbey. As far as Draco knew, this place should be a ruin, unused and forgotten - but while gloomy, this was undeniably an occupied house, with brackets holding lit torches and clean-swept stone. Once Potter pulled them in hard against a wall, and two men Draco didn’t recognise came walking swiftly down the hallway.

“Can’t be the Patil mess again,” one said, sounding clipped and annoyed. “I thought that was sorted last week--”

“Go on and explain that to him, then,” the other said. “I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to hear your contribution.”

“Merlin.” The first man shuddered. “I’m just saying.”

“You’ll keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you,” the second returned. “Unless you want to join Rosier back there?”

“That’s fine,” the first said. He lowered his voice. “Some days I’d rather face our Lord in a bad mood than him.”

They rounded the corner, disappearing out of view. Weasley hissed, “Rosier was a Death Eater, wasn’t he? So maybe this castle is - maybe it’s been taken over by our lot.”

“Maybe,” Potter said, and they kept walking, climbing three flights of stairs and passing no one. Then there was a scream, short and splintered, cutting off abruptly. They froze. Draco wanted to stay frozen, but after a moment Potter started edging forward again, and Weasley and Granger followed him, of course, and Draco was forced to go with them or lose the safe circle of invisibility. His hands were shaking, teeth chattering.

A little further along the hall they could hear a voice, drawling and weirdly familiar.

“-- not to start that up again,” the man said. “I thought we’d moved past that, Rosier. I thought we were making progress. I’m trying to help you.”

Rosier said something in response, but it was garbled, hard to understand, sputtered with sobs. 

“This is very childish of you,” the man said. “If you’re responding like this to me, how are you going to manage to report to our Lord? You know he’s very, very disappointed.”

The four of them stopped outside a door. Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Let’s get out of here,” he hissed. “Who is that maniac? He sounds - I know him from somewhere--”

Granger and Weasley were staring at him, faces ashen. Potter looked surprised, eyebrows going up; then his face relaxed, something quick and sad passing through him.

“I think he’s another you, Draco,” he said.

Draco stared. “What?”

They shifted forward and a draft swept through the corridor, set the door ajar. It revealed a room, scarcely more comfortable than the hallway, a somber oak table and chairs and a fireplace burning its embers. Rosier, who Draco faintly remembered from those awful war years, was prostrate on the stone. And leaning back against the table, his long legs propped in front of him and his face coolly displeased, was another Draco. 

“Sir,” Rosier gasped, scrambling a little on the stone floor. “Sir, please - please - it was a mistake--”

The other Draco looked down at Rosier, lip curling. “Do you think our Lord allows for mistakes, Rosier?”

“Sir - no--”

“No,” the other Draco agreed. “And when you make mistakes, I end up having to fix them. You know, I’m getting awfully bored of having to cover for your incompetence. _Crucio._ ”

Draco jerked backward. His mouth was open, and he thought he was going to make a noise when Auror Potter spun under the cloak, clasped a hand over his mouth. Draco’s stomach rolled, body jerking with it. He gasped soundlessly behind Potter’s hand. Granger and Weasley were staring at him in horror and on the floor just beyond them - on the floor--

The other Draco straightened. “Greengrass,” he called, and Daphne Greengrass appeared from another doorway, coolly beautiful as ever, and looking at Draco with a quiet respect that she never had in Draco’s world.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Finish with Rosier for me,” Draco said. “I have too much to be dealing with to be bothered with anymore of this.”

“Of course, sir,” she said.

The other Draco swept out of them, so close that the hem of his cloak sweeping out behind them brushed over the toe of Weasley’s shoe. Draco still thought he was going to be sick; his legs were trembling, wanting to give out on him. But Potter pushed at him, hissed, “Quick, follow him,” and the four of them were sent into stumbling motion.

Granger whispered back, “Why? He clearly belongs in this world--”

“He’s our best hint,” Potter whispered back, and the four of them tried to go as quietly as they could after the other Draco, who was moving swiftly down the corridor, fast and sure of himself in a way that Draco couldn’t remember ever being. A few times they passed other people, who fell respectfully or fearfully back against the corridor walls, one or two of them half-bowing; the other Draco didn’t grace them with even a look. He led them higher and higher up through the abbey, until he jerked suddenly into the west wing, the door swinging open before him without being touched, and they followed him quickly into what were, unmistakably, his quarters. Here, at last, was some sign of opulence: a couch and shelves lined with books, a desk covered in parchment and maps and newspapers, a series of intricate instruments lining the broad windowsills that looked out onto a shrieking cold night, and beyond, a few steps leading up into what looked like the bedroom, a gauzy green curtain drawn across and the shadow of a four poster bed beyond.

The door slammed shut behind them. The other Draco sat down at his desk, eyed the maps for a moment, and then threw his cloak across the whole mess of it. He stood up, paced around the room, coming so close to them that Granger actually shunted in closer to Draco before he returned to his desk and leaned back against it. Bile rose up in Draco again; it was exactly the same as his pose looking down at Rosier.

“All right, Potter,” he said. “You can take that cloak off now.”

Draco froze. Granger hissed out a breath and raised her wand, but Potter reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her still. He yanked the cloak off with his other hand.

The other Draco took them in with an unimpressed eye, apparently unsurprised to come face to face not only with Potter, Granger, and Weasley, but with another version of himself. Draco stared at him, half-panting, all his insides roiling with fear and disgust and loathing.

“Hello,” Potter said evenly.

“Hello,” the other Draco said. His eyes flicked up and down, grey and cold. “You’re not Harry Potter.”

“Not the one from this world,” Potter agreed. “You’re not surprised to see us.”

“No,” the other Draco said. “I’ve been expecting something like this.” He looked straight at Draco, smiled thin-lipped. “Weak stomach?”

Draco cleared his throat. He couldn’t think of anything to stay.

“You’ll get used to it,” the other Draco said. There was a thin scar running down his face, parallel to his cheekbone; it was only visible when he turned his head towards the bedroom, the candlelight flickering against it. He called, “You better come out now.”

The curtain was pushed aside. “Hello,” a new Harry Potter said. He was, at the very most, twelve years old. He had a faintly starved look about him, thin cheeks and big green eyes, and he was wearing his Hogwarts robes and - a Slytherin tie. 

His gaze took in the other Potter with a little discomposure, and he nodded absently at Granger and Weasley. Then he spotted Draco, and his face lit up.

“Draco!” he said, and skipped down the stairs, hurrying to Draco’s side and taking firm hold of his hand. Draco stared down at him, bewildered.

“He did that to me, too,” the other Draco observed dispassionately. “Been here about a week now. I’ve had a hell of a time keeping him hidden.”

“Hi,” the tiny, Slytherin Harry said, smiling up at Draco. “You’re grown up too.”

“Why’d you keep him hidden?” Potter said. He took in the room with a dismissive, cold sweep of his gaze. “Somehow I don’t think we get on in this world.”

The other Draco’s mouth twitched. “No,” he said. “Not that I’ve seen you in a while. I suspect the real you is mixed up in all of this.”

 

“Oh?” Potter said, a slight edge to his voice, like a dare.

“You’re certainly not him,” Draco said. “Though you’re just as loud in your invisibility cloak.” He nodded absently at Granger and Weasley. “And given that the Granger from this world has some fairly significant scarring down her face she won’t be getting rid of anytime soon, and Weasley’s been dead for nearly two years--”

Granger’s grip on Weasley’s arm went very tight indeed, and her wand was up again. “You coward,” she said coldly. “I’ll kill you.”

The other Draco laughed. It wasn’t a very nice sound. “I don’t think it’s a very clever idea,” he said. He looked amused, distant, untouchable the way Draco had dreamed of being when he was fifteen and had gone red with fury every time Potter so much as looked at him. It wasn’t as comforting as Draco had always assumed it would be. “Why do you think I’ve kept the brat alive? You’re playing with different worlds. That’s high magic.”

Granger looked worried, but Potter rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I had no idea,” he said. “I guess I’d better stop running around having fun and start trying to set everything to rights.” He turned to the tiny version of himself, looking only very slightly weirded out. “Hey! How are you doing?”

“Fine,” the tiny Harry said, giving Potter a stern, unimpressed look that, after a moment of faint recognition, Draco realised with a shock was the same look that he used to give Draco in second year whenever Draco sneered at the ragtag Golden Trio. “I guess I grew up rude in your world, huh?”

Auror Potter laughed, looking pleased. “You got sorted into Slytherin?” he asked.

Tiny Harry tilted his chin up defiantly. “Best House there is.” Draco couldn’t resist giving his hand a very slight squeeze, and was immediately betrayed by the beam Tiny Harry directed up at him. “Right, Draco?”

“Right,” Draco said, because no matter how many worlds there apparently were or the fact that there was a psychopathic version of himself lounging against his desk and smirking, he would always be clear on that particular fact. 

“Is the Draco in your world... also twelve?” Auror Potter asked.

“Yes,” Tiny Harry said, perking up noticeably. “Well. He’s like, two months older than me. But I don’t think that really counts.”

“Me either,” Auror Potter said, grinning. “He likes to rub that in your face though, huh? Anyway, what’s say we get you back to where everyone’s the right age?”

“Yes, please,” Tiny Harry said. He was smiling, his grip tight on Draco’s hand. He added, in a low, confiding voice, “He’ll be worried, you know. He’s going to yell so much.”

“Believe me, I know,” Auror Potter said dryly. “Gather in, guys.”

The other Draco pushed off the desk, watching them with cold grey eyes. “If you find the Potter from this world, you’d better tell him to hurry back,” he said, with that awful, humourless smile. “His friends aren’t doing particularly well without him.” He paused. “Maybe he’s just given up.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Granger said, through gritted teeth. “Harry, couldn’t we--”

Auror Potter shook his head, as though he knew what Granger was talking about. “We can’t interfere in other worlds,” he said, and gave the grim room another worried look. “I think we’d better track down this Harry quickly. Come on. They all crowded round again, and the world was just sinking into blessed darkness away from them when Draco felt a cool, strong grip on his shoulder.

\---

Auror Harry yelled at the Dark Malfoy for about fifteen minutes, wand out and hand shaking with fury, but it didn’t do much good. The Dark Malfoy was clever, cleverer than any Draco Malfoy that Hermione had met yet - and to her dismay over the past few days, she’d met a lot - and he just looked about coolly and said, “What is this, some sideways universe? I’m not _sure_ on my intra-fabric travel but wasn’t there something about magic being a destabiliser--”

Auror Harry put his wand away. He said, voice tight, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Seeing what the Golden Trio are up to,” the Dark Malfoy said, half-smiling. “It’s been so long since the three of you were in action in my world, you see.”

Hermione gripped Ron’s hand tighter, that sharp stab of fear piercing through her again. It seemed impossible, a world without Ron, a world where Ron had died. She wasn’t sure how any version of herself could have borne it.

“You better stick close, Malfoy,” Auror Harry said grimly, “I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight,” and about three Malfoys said, “What?”

Dark Malfoy rolled his eyes. “This isn’t going to work, there’s too many of us,” he said. “Look, I’ll go by Abraxas, it’s a family name.”

“Not Lucius?” Harry said coldly, and Abraxas smiled again, that stark, awful one that was like a slip of a knife, and never reached his eyes.

“Abraxas is fine,” he said. It was almost easier to think of him like that, as though he was a different person, and not who the weak-willed Malfoy from Hermione’s world could have become. “And you can be Potter, if you like, as you’re the first one.”

“Er,” the tiny Harry said. Hermione felt almost impossibly fond and impossibly confused every time she looked at him. A young Harry was incredibly familiar to her, with the same slightly rumpled look about him, his eyes wider, his smile happier than it had been in a long time, hiking up the sleeves of his robes like he expected them to be too big for him. It should have been comforting to look at him, but the Slytherin tie and the tight hold he had of Malfoy’s hand kept knocking her off balance.

Abraxas raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, you’re definitely not first, you’re only, what, eight?”

Tiny Harry puffed up in outrage. “I’m twelve,” he said.

“My mistake,” Abraxas said.

“What about a nickname, though?” Auror Harry - Potter, it suited him, the James Bond vibes and all the showing off - said, looking a little uncertain. “You could be… well…”

“I could be Hazza,” the Tiny Harry said, brightening.

“What?” Ron said, and began to laugh, which Hermione was grateful for. He’d been quiet and still, careful, since Abraxas first crossed their path.

“Yeah, we’re trying it out,” Hazza said. “I’m not - I think - it’s a _little_ silly,” he admitted, looking shamefully around himself as though his loyalty was at question. “But Draco thinks nicknames will be cool.”

“What’s Draco’s nickname, then?” Potter asked.

“Drazza,” Hazza said promptly. Ron breathed in sharply, and then let out a giant hilarious whoop that made Malfoy startle, Abraxas look displeased, and Potter start to laugh as well.

“All right,” Hermione said, grinning. “That’ll work well. And then we’ve got, uh--”

“Francis,” Ron said immediately, pointing at French Draco, who scowled and said, “’Ow _originale_ ,” which did nothing to dispel the quiet giggling that was picking up in the clearing.

“Done,” Potter said immediately, grinning. 

The cheerful Draco who was about to get married put up his hand, looking faintly pained, and said, “I’ll be Drake, I suppose. Someone has to.”

“Fine,” Ron said, and pointed at the girl Draco. “And she can be Drakette--”

“I will kill you,” the girl Malfoy said, without hesitation. “I don’t need magic. Believe me.”

“Um,” Ron said, and Potter said quickly, “She can be Malfoy. Someone has to be Malfoy.”

“What about - what about him?” Hermione said, and looked at the Draco from her world. He was quiet, had barely spoken a word since they came across Abraxas. He looked a little like he was going to be ill. Some part of Hermione, the part that had never been able to deal with how lightly he got off after the war, was viciously pleased. _Good. Good. Look at what you ran towards._

But Potter looked sympathetic. “He can be Draco,” he said.

“You’ve got your own Draco,” Draco mumbled.

“Well,” Potter said, “when he shows up again you can duel it out.”

He was trying to be kind, letting Draco keep his own name. Draco didn’t deserve kindness; Hermione wasn’t sure what the Draco in Potter’s world had done to earn Potter’s clear trust, but this Draco assuredly hadn’t. He didn’t even look grateful for it, just hunched his shoulders and mumbled assent.

“That’ll do,” Abraxas said. He didn’t look amused anymore. “This isn’t school camp. Where are you going next?”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Nowhere I’m willing to take you, as it happens.”

“Fine,” Abraxas said, showing gleaming teeth in something else that wasn’t a smile. “Then I’ll stay here with everybody. What fun for me.”

Potter looked concerned, and opened his mouth, but Ron got there first. “Not a worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him.”

Abraxas let out a shout of laughter. “Oh, good,” he said, eyes bright with malice. “I’m fairly quaking in my boots. A dead boy to guard me.”

“I’m not dead,” Ron said.

Abraxas murmured, “It’s so easy to get confused--”

“Ron,” Hermione said, throat tight with fear.

“Listen,” Potter said, “you don’t need to--”

“I don’t know what he did to the Ron in his world to catch him off-guard,” Ron said, comfortable, hands in his pockets and watching Abraxas with his steady blue gaze. “Whether he lied, or tricked him, or ambushed him, or just overpowered him. That’s fine. I’ll stay and make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief. He can try it again, if he likes, but I’m going to be just fine.”

“What fun we’ll have,” Abraxas said, and Hermione realised abruptly what Ron was doing, that he was right, and also what Ron didn’t realise: that Abraxas probably couldn’t get up to much physical nastiness, but he could talk, he could sew discord, he could tell people terrible things. Better that none of the other Harrys heard that; better still that none of the other Malfoys heard it. And Ron was willing to stay and hear it himself, but he didn’t have to stay alone.

“I’ll stay too,” Hermione said. “You don’t really need us, Harry. You’ve already got an anchor to our Harry.” She looked at Draco meaningfully, who went pink.

“I’m not an anchor!” he said, furious.

Hermione rolled his eyes. “You’re from his world,” she said. “Just because our Harry isn’t stupid enough to be - close to you--”

“Hey!” Hazza said. Hermione stopped, and Hazza said crossly, “Draco’s my best friend.”

“Maybe your Draco is different,” Hermione said, as kindly as she could, though she rather doubted it. Hazza didn’t seem much appeased, frowning but falling silent.

“She’s right,” Potter said, nodding at Draco. “We’ll get about faster, too, if it’s just the two of us for a bit. And it’s getting dark,” he added, looking about the woods. It was, Hermione realised, the dark creeping on differently here, in the Wood Between The Worlds. It felt as though it was coming up from the ground, rather than from the sky; it made Hermione shiver. Potter looked at her, gaze serious, and said, “Hermione, if you could work out a - a fire or something…”

Hermione nodded. “We’ll do what we can,” she said, Ron’s shoulder sturdy against hers.

\---

Abraxas didn’t show much of an inclination to talk to anyone. At first it relieved Hermione, but as the hours crept by and the forest went dark around the crackling bonfire she and Ron had built, it started to unnerve her. He leaned at the edge of the groups, watching closely. The others steered a wide berth of him, Harrys and Dracos alike, though Malfoy kept flicking him quick, nervous glances with her dark gaze, and Drake occasionally stared at him with a sick looking fascination. Abraxas, for the most part, watched Hermione and Ron, his mouth crooked up in the corner.

“Controlling one world isn’t enough for you?” Ron asked finally. “You’ve found an opportunity to take over a couple more?”

Abraxas blinked, gaze sliding to Ron like oil on water. “Who said anything about taking over?”

“You looked fairly in charge, back home,” Ron said bluntly, and Abraxas laughed, low and pleased, a thrill of menace.

“I’m happy to help, I’m sure,” he said. “The Dark Lord grows tired. He has so much on his shoulders.”

“Big of you,” Ron said.

“If he’s tired, you’re in trouble, aren’t you,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice as emotionally detached as Ron’s. She didn’t think it was working particularly well. “Considering the Harry in your world is alive and all. Or have you forgotten about the prophecy?”

“Potter’s not doing such a good job of getting close enough for me to worry about the prophecy,” Abraxas said. “That’s the trouble with being on the run, you see. You start to forget how to turn around.”

Hermione glared. “He’ll fix it.”

“Maybe,” Abraxas said equably. He didn’t seem particularly concerned, and Hermione let her attention turn to where Ron was trying to talk Veela Draco into letting some of the Harrys wander away from the fire when they got too hot. Veela Draco didn’t like it, clearly unhappy about not being able to keep his eye on any of them, and he didn’t trust Abraxas either, gaze skipping close to him and then away.

A little while after that there was a tearing noise, strange to hear on the other side of it, and Potter and Draco stumbled back into the world, dragging a new Harry and Draco with them. 

The new Draco was, unmistakably, Drazza. He was smaller than Hermione could ever remember Draco Malfoy being, and alarmingly, well, _cute_. He had a little snub nose and the hair slicked back looked faintly ridiculous now that he wasn’t lording his height difference. When he caught sight of Hazza his face split into a beam and the two of them rushed together, grabbing tight in an instinctive, emotional hug. Drazza tucked his face against Hazza’s shoulder - Hazza was taller, though if they were like any of the other Harry and Dracos he wouldn’t be for long - and Hazza whispered at high speed in Drazza’s ear. Then they realised that everyone was staring at them and took a step back, clearing their throats, and performed an elaborate handshake that was even worse.

“Oh my god, we’re adorable,” Potter said, beaming. Drake had his hands pressed to his cheek, was practically cooing.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said. He was standing a little more comfortably, like being away from Abraxas had been good for him; there was colour in his cheeks again. Hermione hated him, the little coward. “Haven’t you had enough of it yet?”

“Enough?” Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.

“It was all I heard for half an hour,” Draco drawled. “Potter here and - Drazza,” his lip curled, “going on and on about how important friendship and forgiveness were--”

“Forgiveness?” Hermione said.

“Apparently they didn’t get on at first,” Potter said, gazing at Hazza and Drazza, still whispering to each other, with a fuzzy sort of fondness that made Hermione weirdly uncomfortable. “I was shocked, obviously.”

“It’s all been rather embarrassing,” Draco said.

“I hate to agree,” the new Harry said, “but…”

Hermione turned her attention to the new Harry, who was darker-skinned than their Harry and wore his hair shorter, buzzed back into tight whorls, not quite long enough to be a ‘fro. He had a hard, angry look about him, mouth set and furious, and his Hogwarts uniform was rumpled, trousers creased, tie missing, shirt buttons open to his collarbone and baring--

Hermione blinked.

“Oh, this is Harriet,” Potter added. “We think she’s Malfoy’s.”

“ _Please_ ,” Harriet snarled, “never say that again,” and then Malfoy uncoiled from where she was sitting by the fire and came stalking towards Harriet. They eyed each other up, dark eyes meeting. Harriet’s mouth set into something satisfied and nasty, and she shoved her hands in her pockets and stayed where she was, half-slouching, gaze tracking Malfoy as Malfoy prowled in a ranging circle around Harriet, eyeing her up like prey.

“Yes,” Malfoy said, in her cool, crisp voice. “Unfortunately. That’s the slob from my world.”

“That’s the posh tit,” Harriet answered, voice rougher than Hermione was used to. She kept perfectly still while Malfoy moved behind her. The lightning scar slashed down across her eyebrow, giving her a slightly more quizzical look than most Harrys. Hermione rather liked her.

“‘Mione,” Ron whispered in her ear, “do you get the feeling that these two--”

“Speak up, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. “Something to share with the class?”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Take the girl away from Snape,” she said, _sotto voce_ , and Malfoy whirled on her, striding in close, face lit up with fury.

“Don’t you dare mention his name,” she said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harriet said, tilting her chin up and taking a step forward, glaring at Malfoy. “You think he was on your side? He wasn’t. I don’t know what he was but he wasn’t on your side--”

“You think I don’t know that?” Malfoy snarled, stepping closer. They were nearly nose to nose, glaring at each other, Malfoy working every inch of height she had, Harriet glowering up and shifting her balance like she was ready for a fight. She was the same as Hermione’s Harry; normal and easy enough until she got angry, when she suddenly looked very frightening indeed. “Everyone knows he was a spy. So what! He was still _ours_! You don’t get to have the whole world fall at your feet and Slytherin too--”

“I thought Slytherin just fell,” Harriet said, and Malfoy practically froze with anger, her only movement a minute trembling.

“That’s rude,” Hazza said.

“Uh,” Ron said. “I’m not sure rude is the word I’d use.”

“Me either,” Potter said, looking a little dazed again, and Hermione took in both of their stares and the way Harriet and Malfoy were leaning in close, like the gravity of the world was pulling them together and nobody else in the clearing mattered, and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, honestly,” she said, and, determined to put an end to this scene, “Is your name really Harriet?”

“No,” Harriet said. She didn’t take her eyes off Malfoy. “But they said I had to be distinguishable from all the other Harrys.”

“I think that was my idea, actually,” Abraxas said, and managed to do what Potter, Hermione, and Ron hadn’t, startling Harriet and Malfoy apart. Malfoy took a few quick steps back, her face paling, and Harriet just frowned, staring at him. 

Potter didn’t answer. After a moment Abraxas smiled again, that sly crooked thing, and said, “Now you have two matched sets, are you going to send them home?”

“We are not--” Harriet and Malfoy began hotly at the same time, while Hazza and Drazza looked quietly thrilled.

“Not yet,” Potter said, rubbing his hands over his face. His sleeves were rolled down, hanging around his knuckles. Trust Harry to not just get a coat that fit him, Hermione thought fondly. “I can’t work out the magic of this place, but I think it doesn’t like too much interference. It’s going to be safer if we can round everyone up here, and then send everyone back all together. If I could just find my Draco…”

He trailed off. The Draco from Hermione’s world looked faintly displeased, sneaking a look at Potter under his eyelashes, and Hermione wondered dryly if he was getting a crush, after all the kissing and Potter’s unexpected kindness. Not to mention the fifth year rumours. That would serve him right.

“I think the best thing to do is wait until we have all the missing Harrys and Dracos,” Potter concluded. “But I’m exhausted. Let’s stop for the night.”

“I’m not sure it’s night,” Hermione said, frowning. “Time here seems very weird. And I was talking to the, uh, the redhead Harry--” he gave a lazy wave to the group, “--and he says he was only in that other world for three days. But Hazza was in Abraxas’s world for a week, and our Harry has been missing for two months--”

Potter was nodding. “There’s no way to track it, I’m afraid,” he said.

Drake blinked. “Wait. I was only in that world for a day, but - you’re saying I could have been gone months?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Isn’t there any way of telling? What if some of the Harrys are in trouble?”

“Look, even if he’s not been taken to another world, _my_ Harry is - not going to be handling this well,” Drake said, looking faintly panicked. “If I’ve been gone for a day, bad enough, but a week or - or _months_ \--”

“Or a year,” Abraxas put in silkily. “Who knows? Maybe he’s over you. Found the closest Weasley and made the best of things.”

Drake gave him a quick, dismissive glance. “I’m not worried about that,” he said. “I am slightly concerned he’ll have torn the country apart.”

Hermione blinked. “I thought your Harry wasn’t the Boy Who Lived?”

“That doesn’t mean he’s powerless,” Drake snapped. “We both fought in a war. And he’s got the worst temper--”

About three Dracos put their hands up and said, “With respect--”

“Well, he’s got a terrible temper then, whatever,” Drake said, looking impatient. “I don’t - the point is, I have to get home.”

“We’ll get you home,” Potter said, eyes soft. Hermione wished he wasn’t so obvious about liking the Dracos who got on with their Harrys. 

“How lucky we are to have you here to save the day,” Abraxas said. His mouth crooked. “Are you an Auror, Potter?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “What a clever guess.”

“It’s sweet,” Abraxas mused. “I haven’t seen an auror in a long time. I’m not sure they exist anymore. You certainly never got the chance, in my world.”

“But look how many of us did get the chance,” Potter said lightly, and it was true that four or five of the Harrys were looking at Abraxas, their green eyes bright, their mouths set. Abraxas laughed, and shut up. Hermione smirked.

They settled into small groups around a campfire that a couple of the Harrys and Ron built, Potter chucking them a packet of matches. Hermione dozed for a while, leaning on Ron’s shoulder, and everyone else went quiet, talking in low murmurs. Abraxas sat with his back up against an enormous oak tree, face hidden in shadow. Malfoy and Harriet were sitting next to each other with a firm metre of space between them, hissing unpleasantries. 

Hermione flashed in and out of sleep. She couldn’t get used to the darkness of this place; not overwhelming, kind of blue-ish, but with no stars or moon overhead. It should have been darker than it was, really. After a while she started wondering how much time had passed; she wasn’t hungry. She felt… lesser here. Like she wasn’t quite real.

She sat up, craning her head up to the sky, searching for a cloud or an alien planet or the first fingers of dawn. But the sky stayed dark, friendly and untouchable.

“Worked it out, have you?” Abraxas said, from across the fire. Hermione jerked, and then glared.

“What?” she said coldly.

“It’s not night,” Abraxas said. “It’s something else.”

Hermione stayed quiet. She cast a glance at Potter, who was sleeping curled on his coat in the leaves. She sat waiting, her whole body sure that morning had to come, but the hours ticked steadily away and when Potter stirred, sighing, it was still dark as midnight.

Potter didn’t look that surprised. He looked at her, something quiet and steady in his gaze, and said, “Want to come with me for another drop? I think the sooner we wrap this up the better.”

Hermione nodded. She shook Ron awake, nodding in Abraxas’s direction. Ron hadn’t been sleeping very deeply either, she thought, and when she asked if he would be okay on his own for a bit he just said, warm, “Not really on my own, am I? More Harrys than you could throw a stick at,” and folded his big hand over her hair, soothing.

Hermione stood up and took Potter’s arm. After a moment Draco scrambled after them, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

\---

The world they flashed into was, unmistakably, London - smack dab in the middle of Hyde Park, with the lake rolling out before them and ducks squabbling on the shore. It was summer, and the sudden heat and light hit Hermione like a blow; she took a step back, staggered, and then stretched her arms out, turned her face up to the blue. The sky was such a reassurance.

“Oh, hello,” Potter said cheerfully. “One of each, then,” and Hermione looked back at the world around them. There was a Draco and a Harry sitting on the ground in front of them with a picnic blanket. The Harry was one of the plainest Harrys Hermione had seen yet, sort of weird looking, with his big nose and dark auburn hair and bulky shoulders, and a smaller scar than normal, trailing off just under his hairline. He was squat and solidly built; he looked like he’d had more meals than most of the Harrys, and he had an easy, friendly air that she also didn’t really associate with Harry, standing up to shake Potter’s hand and laugh.

“Oh, hiya,” the new Harry said. “This is weird but expected. Are you here to get us home?”

“This isn’t either of your home?” Potter asked, smiling down at the Draco on the blanket.

The Draco looked a lot more like the normal one standing cautiously only a few feet away. He had silver-blonde hair and pointy features and that faint sneer. But when he tilted his head up, everyone except the new Harry startled; there was a lightning scar that curved jagged down his forehead and across one raised eyebrow.

“Hang on,” Potter said, staring, “are you--”

“Yep,” the new Harry said cheerfully. “Weirded me out at first, too, but he’s the Boy Who Lived in his world.”

“Jesus,” Hermione said, blinking. The Draco Who’d Lived stared up at them, scowling, and climbed ungenerously to his feet.

“Another Potter Who Lived,” he said snidely, nodding at Potter. “As if your head wasn’t big enough. Heads,” he added thoughtfully, looking at the new Harry again.

The new Harry grinned. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “This Draco’s a bit of a nightmare. Fair enough, I suppose, what with his dad turning against him and all, but--”

“Keep your mouth off my father,” the new Draco said coldly.

Draco stared. “You’re really the one who - who defeated - He Who Must Not Be Named?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think we can say Voldemort.”

The Draco Who’d Lived glared. “Better not,” he said. “And I haven’t defeated him, have I? I was running around in the fucking Forest of Dean with Pansy and Crabbe trying to find fucking Horcruxes and then all of a sudden I was here with _him_.” He nodded at the new Harry. “You know there’s a war going on, right? I don’t have time for this!”

“We’ll get you back,” Potter said soothingly. “You’re not from the same world, then?”

The Draco Who Lived glared. “No, thank Merlin,” he said crisply. “Though he does have the same do-gooder Gryffindor annoying streak--”

“You’re not a do-gooder?” Hermione said, unimpressed. 

The Draco Who Lived swiped his hair back and tilted his chin up defiantly. “Just because I’m sworn to kill Voldemort or die myself doesn’t mean I’m a _nerd_ ,” he said, and the new Harry laughed.

“Yeah, my Draco’s a lot nicer,” he said. “Or is now, anyway. This is confusing, isn’t it, all the Dracos to keep track of? You’re another one,” he added to Draco, holding out his hand, “hi.”

“Hi,” Draco said, lip curling. He didn’t shake the new Harry’s hand, but Harry didn’t seem to take it personally, just laughed cheerfully again and winked at Hermione.

“We’re using nicknames mostly,” Potter said. “I’m Potter, and this is Draco, he got in early. Hermione gets to stay the same because _she_ wasn’t stupid enough to get herself mixed up in a bunch of different universes. You two’ll need ones too, how about it?”

The new Harry considered. “Anyone taken Evans yet?” he asked, and Potter shook his head. “That’ll do, then.”

The Draco Who Lived looked disapproving. “I’m always Draco,” he said, and sighed. “Has anyone taken Draconis?”

“It’s all yours,” Potter said. “Come on, everybody in, let’s go join the others,” and there was that horrible pressure as they all crowded around Potter’s device, and then they were back in the wood between the worlds.

Nearly everyone was awake now, glaring into the slumbering remains of the fire. Potter introduced Evans and Draconis - Draconis took in the amount of Harrys with scars with a slow, disbelieving sneer - and started to explain the situation, and how important it was not to use magic while they were here. He’d embellished on that part of the welcoming speech, Hermione couldn’t help but notice, and felt uneasy, looking up at that fathomless sky.

“It’s so dark,” Ron murmured, coming to lean on her shoulder. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s even there,” and fear touched at Hermione’s heart.

“Well,” she began, but was interrupted by a low, husky, beautiful voice.

“ _Mine_ ,” Veela Draco breathed, as if in a dream, and Evans swung around. Veela Draco put out a weird, shocking burst of light that Hermione realised after a dazed second was his smile, and then Evans was jumping forward and Veela Draco gathered him up in a jealous embrace, dropping his head and crooning against Evans’s neck, almost winding around him, nuzzling against his hair.

Several of the Harrys, Hermione couldn’t help but notice, were looking a little jealous.

“Fuck, thank Merlin you’re here,” Evans said, grabbing at Draco’s shirt, holding him close. “I’ve been so - I was only gone for a couple of days but--”

“Six weeks,” Veela Draco said in that low, lovely voice. It gave Hermione a bit of a shock, hearing him talk out of possessive phrases. “I’ve been gone from you six weeks--”

“Draco,” Evans said, voice shaking, and they kissed, slow and tender, arms wrapped around each other. It was bizarre, homely little Evans all lit up in the weird glow of Veela Draco’s unearthly beauty, but Veela Draco was holding onto Evans with a grip that suggested he’d tear the throat out of anyone who tried to separate them. He nuzzled in at Evans’ hair, his throat, lips brushing over the line of Evans’ jaw sweetly, like he was half-worried Evans would break under his touch.

“I say,” Drazza said, “quite a lot of us are together, isn’t it?”

Abraxas rolled his eyes. Drake and Potter looked pleased. Malfoy, her lips compressed in disgust, said, “We are not.”

“We are,” Hazza said loyally, standing by Drazza’s side. “Those two are the first to be together but lots of us keep talking about it.”

“Scared, little Potter?” Abraxas asked, deadly soft. “Is it making you feel _strange_?”

Hazza rolled his eyes. “No. Obviously it’s not _our_ world. Draco’s going to marry Pansy Parkinson.”

Drazza went pink. “Maybe,” he said, puffing his chest out a little. “Well, probably.”

“She likes you,” Hazza insisted, before he added manfully, “Well, okay, she doesn’t like you that much, but we’ve got a plan.”

Draco looked amused. “Pansy doesn’t like you?” he asked Drazza. “Weren’t you friends before Hogwarts, in your world?”

“Oh, we were,” Drazza said, looking a little dispirited. “Only - well - Harry and I had this Cunning Plan and it almost worked--”

“It did work!” Hazza said. “It definitely worked! It just got Pansy a little, er, covered in slime--”

“Ah,” Draco said, grinning. “Well, in that case--”

“Excuse me,” Veela Draco said. It gave Hermione a bit of a shock; she wasn’t alone, either, judging by the way everyone jerked back towards Veela Draco, his long hair drifting slightly in some secret wind, his arms wound around Evan’s shoulders, his gaze steely and sure. “I would like to go home now, please.”

“Bit more talkative now, aren’t you,” Potter said cheerfully. 

Veela Draco looked a little uncertain. Evans scowled. “He’s not an idiot,” he snapped. “You should try being half-Veela once in a while. He has to exert a lot of control!”

That made Veela Draco smile, turning his face in towards Evans’ hair, lips brushing over the top curve of Evans’ ear. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “But we want to go home.”

“Right,” Potter said. “Of course. Look, we just need to get all the mixed up versions of us here, and then everyone can go home, obviously.”

“Why?” Veela Draco’s eyebrows were arched, something easily demanding about his face. Hermione wondered abruptly what he did, in his world. He and Evans must have been in their late twenties, now she was paying attention, though Veela Draco was kind of ageless, in his own way. “Why not just send us back as we’re matched up?”

Potter paused. Silky in the sudden silence, Abraxas said, “He doesn’t know how.”

Hermione glared at him. “Can you stop trying to cause fights,” she said, “and just--”

Then she stopped. She looked at Potter, whose face was bland and pleasant. He was so handsome and so agreeable with it that it was just nice to look at him, reassuring, like staring at a beautiful painting. It was comforting. For the first time Hermione thought properly about the fact that he was an auror.

“There we go,” Abraxas said, with his nasty little smile, and the campsite erupted into chaos.

\---

Draco left when he got a chance. It was all useless fighting, everyone yelling at each other, even Granger, who’d gone into a proper fury when she realised that Potter had no idea what he was doing and admitted as much, with a slightly awkward shrug.

“I thought I’d figure it out as I go along,” he said. “I usually do,” and a couple of the other Potters started to nod, looking thoughtful, only then Granger started yelling about how you had to be honest with people, and was he sure _he_ wasn’t a Slytherin Potter as well, and how on earth was he going to get everyone back, and Potter just smiled and smiled and occasionally stepped in to disagree when Abraxas said something particularly poisonous.

Draco was exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly. He left the clearing and found a tree with long roots that formed an odd little cradle. He settled himself into his seat and leaned back against the trunk, closed his eyes. He wondered what would happen, if he never got home. He wondered if he would end up in some new world or just be here forever, this awful timeless dark. His mother would be very upset, he thought distantly.

“Hello,” Potter said, and Draco opened his eyes.

It was just Potter, looking at him with a crooked grin and his hands shoved comfortably in the pockets of the too big coat. He raised an eyebrow at Draco and said, “You want to get on with it?”

“I thought everyone was busy yelling at you,” Draco said.

“Ron made the mistake of disagreeing with Hermione,” Potter said. “I slipped away while they were thrashing it out. You know we have to keep finding them.”

“Why?” Draco said. “So this place is as uncomfortably and creepily full of versions of us as possible? Because it’s not fun enough being stuck here like this?”

“Oh, you’re cross too,” Potter said, and folded up next to Draco on the tree roots.

“You’ve trapped me here,” Draco said. “I had a fine, miserable little life of my own back home, as it happened, where I wasn’t surrounded with an extra dozen Potters who hate me.”

“Not all of them hate you,” Potter said.

Draco looked away. “I can’t believe this doesn’t bother you. Typical Gryffindor arrogance.”

“Mm,” Potter said. “But I have a secret weapon.”

“Oh, yes?” Draco sneered. “Killing a Dark Lord gives you the ability to sort out multiple universes, does it?”

Potter laughed. “That’d be good. No, though.”

“What, then?”

“You,” Potter said.

Draco looked at his hands. “Don’t.”

“Here,” Potter said, very carefully, and handed over the orb that Draco had been trying so hard not to sneak too many looks at. Draco took it, miserable. “Just have a look.”

Draco turned it over in his hands. Now that he could look properly he could make out the shape of it: a weird twisting ball, trapped in a circular cage. There was a curling switch of iron that hooked in and out of the cage; Potter had been twisting that, Draco realised, when they jumped worlds. Draco ran his thumb carefully over the outside wiring, the silver mesh of the thing, and the ball inside leapt eagerly towards him, sparked gold when it knocked against the cage. Draco looked up. Potter’s face was very close, green eyes trained on his face.

“I can’t fix it,” Draco said. “I’m not him.”

“You’re a version of him.”

“I can’t,” Draco repeated. His heart was hammering hard and he knew what was going to happen before it did, the air thick, Potter’s mouth quirking up at the corner. Draco turned his head to the side but it didn’t help; Potter caught his chin in his hand and guided him back to Potter’s mouth, the kiss slow, like a test. Potter’s hands on him. Potter’s mouth hot. Potter’s eyelashes, when Draco opened his eyes, dark and pretty against his cheek. Except it wasn’t Potter. Not really.

Draco pulled away. “I don’t want you,” he said. He felt miserable, heavy with humiliation. 

“Oh,” Potter said, almost sympathetic, and stroked his hand swiftly through Draco’s hair. “It’s okay. I know you don’t.”

“I really, I--”

“It’s okay,” Potter said. He was smiling again, like it was all a big joke. “I understand.”

“You don’t,” Draco said.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Potter said. “I’m going to get us out of here, and get you home, and everything will be better when you finish school. You have to trust me.”

“You haven’t met him,” Draco snarled. “You don’t know him and you don’t know me. Shut up.”

“Draco--”

“I could have done without this,” Draco said, throat tight. God, he was so fucking embarrassed. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t bear having cried in front of two different Potters in one lifetime. “I really could have - you could have left me alone.”

“Oh, come on,” Potter said, richly amused.

“No, really,” Draco said. He went to stand up but Potter’s hand caught his elbow, and Draco snapped his head up, glaring. He raised his hands, furious. “You don’t get to look at me like that, like you know me--”

“All right, Draco,” Potter said. “I get it, just be--”

“Fuck you,” Draco said. “I was fine. I was fine!”

“You’re going to be fine,” Potter said soothingly. “But be careful,” only then Draco threw his hands up in emphasis and felt his thumb slip and the world went dark again.

They landed heavily on a stone floor, knocking the breath out of them. Draco gasped, staring, but Potter straightened after a moment and put out his hand to help Draco up off the floor. Draco couldn’t think of a good enough reason not to take it. He stood, straightened. 

“Where are we?” he said, and then paused, shocked. “Wait. This is home.”

“Yes,” Potter said, peering around curiously. He held out his hand again and after a moment, weirdly reluctant, Draco put the orb back into Potter’s waiting palm. “It’s the dungeons, right?”

“Right,” Draco said, and wished being back at Malfoy Manor’s dungeons didn’t give him such a decidedly unhappy feeling.

Potter cocked his head to the side, listening, and after a moment Draco caught it: the easy, familiar drawl of his own voice. Potter put a finger to his lips and they walked quietly down the cold stone passage toward the sound, until Draco could distinguish words.

“--but why do something like that?” the new Draco was saying, sounding perfectly at ease, only a little curious. “It doesn’t strike me as particularly sensible, that’s all.” There was a low murmur, not distinguishable. The new Draco laughed. “Well, if you say so.”

“I think it’s only two people,” Potter murmured, and pulled Draco forward before Draco could say that two people would be more than capable of causing some damage, had Potter _seen_ Abraxas, but then they were standing in front of a cell where another Potter was sitting on the cold stone with his legs stretched out in front of him, one wrist drawn over his head and chained to the wall, and the Draco they’d heard was perched on a wooden stool, eating an apple, regarding the new Potter curiously.

The new Potter saw them, clearly, but his expression didn’t change or give them away, his gaze fixed on the new Draco.

“It just seems to me you’d have an easier time of it if you got over all the elaborate principles, that’s all,” the new Draco said.

“I can’t,” the new Potter said. “That’s the whole point of the prophecy.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting,” the new Draco said, hitting himself lightly on the temple with a laughing look at the chained Potter. “It’s such ancient history here, you know.”

“Sure,” Potter said. He couldn’t have been much past his twenties, Draco thought, but he looked older; there were lines at his temples, threads of grey through his hair. His scar was inflamed and rough-edged, and, Draco realised with a slow, sick feeling, he was missing two fingers from his left hand. They hadn’t bothered chaining that one up. 

“Anyway,” the new Draco said, tossing his apple up in the air, “sorry if I’m boring you, it’s just awfully fascinating,” and then he turned enough to catch sight of Draco and Auror Potter in his peripheral vision and he startled, nearly falling off his chair. “I say, there’s another one of you! And - and me!”

“Hello,” Auror Potter said, guarded.

“Hi,” the chained Potter said. 

Draco frowned, staring at himself. The other Draco looked quite good, sleek-haired and well-dressed in casual, expensive clothing. There was something slightly spoiled about the set of his mouth, though, and he looked overbred, like he was a perfect piece of ripe fruit, just ready to rot.

“This is all very interesting,” the other Draco said. “I suppose you two are from another world, too?”

“Two worlds, actually,” Potter said. He looked at the other version of himself, whose gaze was steady and calm. “But this is your world?”

“Yes, of course,” the other Draco said, with a fine little laugh. “How many Potters are we going to get, then? My father _will_ be pleased.”

Draco felt his hands clench in his pockets. He didn’t dare say anything. Potter said, “Actually, we’re here to take this one back. I expect you’ll want to get back to your own world.”

“I should,” the new Potter said, voice very soft. “I’m needed.”

The new Draco sighed. His wand appeared as if from nowhere, twirled between long, easy fingers. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he said, looking almost apologetic. “It’s just that we don’t have any Harry Potters here, you know, not for decades, so everyone’s very excited about this one.”

Draco frowned. “How do you know about him, if there’s no version of him here?”

“Well, there was, of course,” the new Draco said, smiling. “But he died, what - twenty-five years ago?”

Potter went silent. The new Potter said, in the same quiet, easy voice, “Voldemort killed him when he was a baby, in this world. The Death Eaters have been in power ever since.”

“Don’t say his name,” the new Draco hissed. He looked quite unpleasant when his smile fell away; spoiled, aggressive. “Do you want to get in more trouble than you already are? Do you _like_ them hurting you?”

“Not particularly,” the new Potter said.

“Yeah, we’re leaving,” Auror Potter said. His wand was out suddenly, pointed at the new Draco; a little reluctantly, Draco drew his own wand. He wasn’t sure he was going to be much use at all in whatever weird doppelganger fight was about to kick off. “You’re coming with us, other me. You…” He took in the new Draco again, slowly, some sour savage disappointment curdling behind his features. Draco wondered, a little dully, how long it would take before Auror Potter looked at him like that, too. “You can stay here and rot, far as I care.”

The new Draco stood up, scowling. “You can’t leave,” he said. “He’s our prisoner! You’re - you’re all our prisoners! _Lestrange_!” he yelped, raising his voice. “Crabbe!”

“Okay,” the new Potter said, as though he’d very suddenly had enough, and jerked his wrist forward. The chains exploded, sending sharp iron swinging through the air, making the new Draco yelp and duck, cowering in the corner. He stood up with surprising fluidity and came quickly across the cell floor, and Potter reached through the bars and grabbed his other self’s hand. Draco just had time to grab at Potter’s shoulder before the world was whirling away.

“I did _not_ like that one,” Potter said, when they landed back in the Wood, by the same tree they’d disappeared from. “How long were you there?”

“Three days,” the new Potter said. He straightened, palming the back of his neck. His posture was rigidly good, better than any Potter Draco had seen yet; there was something vaguely militaristic about his bearing, and his eyes were very sharp, though his expression stayed mild. “That was good timing. I thought it was best to stay where I was, wait and see what happened and work out how to get back, but I was going to _have_ to break out soon. I was a novelty, but Voldemort was getting nervous, I think.”

“I believe it,” Potter said grimly.

“Did.” Draco’s voice came out thin. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Were they the ones who…” He nodded at the new Potter’s hand, the missing fingers, and then felt himself flushing, aware he was being rude.

The new Potter didn’t seem to mind. “No,” he said, looking at his hand almost absently. “No, that was someone else.”

“Come on,” Auror Potter said. “We’d better get back to the camp. There’s a lot of us, you see,” he said, giving the new Potter the abbreviated version of the story. “So we’ll have to see if your Draco got mixed up - were you with him, when you disappeared?”

“No,” the new Potter said. He looked a little hunted. “It’s involving all the Malfoys?”

“Yes,” Auror Potter said, with a slightly dispirited look; clearly another Potter who hated his Malfoy, Draco thought, and shoved his hands in his pockets, viciously not caring. “Anyway, look, we’ll get you back as soon as possible.”

“Well, it’s only been a few days.”

Auror Potter shook his head, as they stepped in towards the glow of the campfire. “No. Time seems to work differently everywhere. You could have been gone a lot less time, or a lot more.”

“What? No,” the new Potter said, “I can’t be gone that long, I have to--” and then he stopped, as suddenly as he’d been frozen. Draco glanced at him and blinked; Potter’s face had drained of colour, his eyes huge, and he was staring as though he’d seen his worst nightmare and most treasured hope at the very same time, shocked and loving and frightened, fiercely possessive.

Draco followed his gaze. Over by the campfire Weasley stood up and yawned. “Hi,” he said. “You two are in _mad_ trouble, Hermione’s gone off looking for you. Found another one, did you? Ooof,” he added, because the new Potter had swept forward and hit Weasley like a punch, thudding his whole body against Weasley, tucking his face against Weasley’s neck. He was taking deep, shuddering breaths. Weasley patted his back, a little awkward. “Hello, mate. Nice to meet you?”

“Ron,” the new Potter said, very rough, voice jagged. Draco had a horrible feeling he was crying, a little bit.

“Ha,” Auror Potter said, looking bemused but quite indulgent. “That’s nice. Do you think they’re together, in his world?”

“No,” Abraxas said, and the new Potter raised his head and went still. “Hello, Potter. You’ve been gone a while.”

“Malfoy,” the new Potter said, very even, his grip on Weasley’s arm white-knuckled.

“Oh,” Weasley said, and looked a little pale.

“It’s Abraxas here, actually,” Abraxas said, and gestured. “There’s too many of us, you see. You’ll have to come up with a sweet little nickname of your own.”

“Where have you been?” the new Potter said. He might as well have said _what have you done._

“I just came along here to see all the fuss,” Abraxas said. “I’ve been busy in our own world, you see. It’s been a very successful three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” the new Potter said, and swallowed dryly. “I’ve been gone three weeks?”

“That’s what Patil told us,” Abraxas said, and Potter’s face went suddenly stony, abruptly shut down. He let go of Weasley, took a few steps forward.

“Parvati? You’ve got Parvati--”

“She’s dead, my darling boy,” Abraxas said, deadly soft. The entire campground was silent; Draco glanced over and realised Granger had returned, was standing on the outskirts of the group, her arms folded, her gaze murderous.

Potter straightened a little. “Who killed her?”

Abraxas smiled, baring his teeth. “I did.”

“Right,” Potter said, still very calm, and then after a moment he turned his back decisively on Abraxas and told Auror Potter that if they did need nicknames, everyone could call him James.

\---

When Potter put his hand on her shoulder Hermione startled, had to resist the urge to ask if he was crazy. The mood around the campfire was tense and threatening to spill into ugliness, the Potters and Malfoys mostly collected into groups of their own and glaring. Hazza and Drazza were sitting close together, shoulders pressed tight, whispering; Veela Draco had lain down in Evans’ lap, hair spilling across Evans’ knees, apparently uncaring about the rest of the world. Malfoy was darting nervous looks around; Harriet was playing, very obviously, with her wand, sparks catching at her fingertips. Drake looked miserable, almost ill with homesickness. Only James and Abraxas seemed unconcerned. They sat on opposite sides of the fire, Abraxas lounging, James sitting politely straight with his whole, unmutilated hand on Ron’s wrist, and didn’t appear to even glance in the other’s direction, though Hermione would have staked her life that most of their attention was focused on the other.

“We have to get on with it,” Potter said.

“Why?” Hermione snapped, still furious that she hadn’t been told the full story. “You don’t know how to get anyone back. You’re just going to keep gathering everyone up to trap them here?”

“It’s the only thing we can do,” Potter said, “other than just sit here. And besides, maybe I’ll find my Draco soon. He’ll be able to work it out.”

Hermione didn’t have any of the faith Potter did in some other world’s apparently brilliant Draco. She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed.

“And,” Potter added, with the winning grin of someone with a trump card, “we still haven’t found your Harry.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, and got to her feet. “Ron, are you coming?”

Ron glanced over, and then back at James. “I think I should probably stay here, keep an eye on all the crazy, you know,” he said, with a meaningful look at Abraxas and then a quicker, less deliberate glance at James.

But James shook his head. “I can watch Malfoy - Abraxas,” he said.

“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots,” Abraxas said. “Me versus the boy who let Death Eaters take over Britain.”

“You haven’t got me yet,” James said quietly.

“But look how close I’m getting,” Abraxas said.

James actually rolled his eyes, which was the most Harry-like thing he’d done since he’d arrived and sent another shivering spike of sadness through Hermione. He turned to Potter and Ron and Hermione. “Everything’s fine here,” he said. “You can go on.” He let go of Ron’s wrist with only a second’s hesitation.

“I’m coming too,” Draco put in angrily. “You’re not leaving me alone with this lot.”

“You are this lot,” Hermione said, cold, but Draco ignored her, turning to Auror Potter instead, who nodded. They all shuffled in close, and despite herself Hermione said, in an undertone, “It might be nice to get away for a little, actually.” The dark was weighing on her, the ugly mood not helping.

“Although who knows where we’ll end up,” Draco said bitterly. “Another dungeon, or a stronghold of the Dark Lord, or--” and then Potter jerked the device and they twisted out of the Woods and into another world again.

“I dunno,” Ron said, grinning. “This seems all right.”

They were in a nightclub, but a warm, inviting one, with plenty of candlelight spilling across the floor and green plants spilling down the walls. The room was abuzz with conversation, a small dance floor that was currently deserted but hundreds of people sitting in groups around small, battered tables and in comfortable looking armchairs and deep velvet sofas. There was a busy bar, thriving with people pushing in to get their drinks. There were tall windows that opened out onto a calm summer night, the moon hanging golden and nearly full and the sky dotted with stars. And there was a small stage with a big jazz piano and at it, playing and singing in a surprisingly warm baritone, was another Draco Malfoy.

He was singing an old jazz song, Hermione thought, something light and a little mocking, and in French. Beside her, Draco looked torn between embarrassment and fascination, and Hermione felt rather the same. It should have been odd, but this Malfoy had a nice voice and an easy way about him, and when he finished the song and everyone applauded she clapped despite herself. The new Malfoy stood up, smiling, gave a little half-ironic bow, and slipped off the stage and into the crowd, where she promptly lost sight of him.

“He can’t be in the wrong world,” Ron said. “Surely you wouldn’t put on a show if you were in the wrong universe.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Potter agreed. “There must be a Harry somewhere around here. We should go ask him,” he added, and they started pushing their way through the crowd, keeping Draco hidden in the middle of their group so nobody suddenly noticed that there was a second Draco Malfoy.

They found the new Draco by the bar, accepting a tumbler of scotch and laughing at something the barman said. He turned toward them with a look of calculated shock that made Hermione think he’d spotted them quite some time ago. “Goodness,” he said, in a rich, plummy voice. “ _You’re_ not Harry Potter. If you’re an impersonator you’re doing a very odd job of it. He’s not half as handsome, for one.”

“Thanks,” Potter said, raking his hand through his hair and grinning. “Actually, we’ve got quite a few options,” and he shifted to the side so that the new Draco could see Draco, too. The new Draco’s eyebrows went higher, but he didn’t say anything. Potter said, “Other worlds, see. We’ve all got mixed up. Is this one yours?”

“It is,” the new Draco said, “though if there’s a better one out there, I’d consider it.”

Potter laughed. The new Draco was odd; Hermione couldn’t quite get a read on him. He looked quite relaxed, and he was older than all of them, maybe in his early thirties, and aging quite well. His hair was more golden than the silver-blonde of the Draco from her world, and it had a very slight curl to it that suited him surprisingly well, made him look friendlier. His nose was still too pointy, his lips still thin, but there was a faintly pleasant way about him. It was just that his eyes were also Narcissa’s: black, glittering in the candlelight, somehow secretive.

“Then it’s not you we’re after,” Potter said. “But there might be another Harry Potter around here. Have you seen one?”

The new Draco laughed. He tossed back his scotch. “You’re asking the wrong person,” he said. “Anyone’ll tell you that. Potter hasn’t spoken to me in a year. Not since he dumped me,” he added, his lips curling with bitter amusement. “That put a bit of a damper on our relationship, if I’m honest.”

“Sorry,” Potter said, quite honestly. “That’s rough. But it’s not the Harry Potter from your world, although he might be mixed up all in this. Do you know if he’s missing?”

“No such luck,” Draco said, and turning swiftly snatched up a _Daily Prophet_ that was lying discarded on the bar. He tossed it at Ron, who caught it instinctively and turned the headline up so they could all read it. _THE POTTER-WEASLEY WEDDING COUNTDOWN CONTINUES_ , it shrieked, over a photo of Harry and Ginny ducking hand-in-hand into a bridal store. The Ginny in this world had cut her hair very short, Hermione noticed absently. It suited her.

“Rough,” Potter repeated. He looked at the photo, a little curious himself. Hermione wondered if he had ever been with Ginny, in his world. She doubted it somehow. He seemed very - fixated.

“But there could still be another Harry running around,” Hermione said, determined to drag them back on topic and away from this Draco’s pity party. “We only appear where there is someone. We have this… thing…”

The new Draco looked as though he was trying to be interested for politeness sake. He shrugged. “I haven’t seen one. Sorry.”

“He’s lying,” Draco said quietly, and Hermione startled. He’d been so quiet next to her that she’d half forgotten he was there; now she turned to look at him, and Draco smiled, narrow and unpleasant. “You’ve got the same tic I do. You’re lying.”

The new Draco didn’t say anything. He watched them, suddenly expressionless.

Potter shook his head. “You’ll have to hand him over,” he said. “What’s he going to do, here? There’s already another version of him.”

“If you’re hurting him,” Hermione said, suddenly nervous, “if you’re blaming him for what the Harry in this world did to you--”

“Oh, please, I’m not a fairytale villain,” the new Draco said, and then went quiet again. He was very, very hard to read, but there was a faintly helpless expression about him, like he was sinking.

“You can’t keep him,” Potter said, quite gently. “He has his own world.”

“Right,” the new Draco said. He tipped his glass up again and laughed harshly when he realised it was empty. He swivelled on his heel, throwing a look back at them. “Come on, then.”

He led them, not through the club as Hermione was expecting, but outside, where there was a locked door right next to the entrance of the club. He unlocked this and led them up three flights of stairs, past warm wooden doors leading into separate flats. They were all silent. Hermione had a feeling that the new Draco was working quite hard not to break out into some terrible emotion.

At last he unlocked another door and led them into a small, comfortable flat. It was quite pretty, warm and close and furnished tastefully, but Hermione didn’t get much of a chance to look around. The new Draco walked swiftly through the living room and into a dim bedroom, a lamp burning low in the corner and a big, sumptuous bed taking up most of the space, complete with ridiculous green hangings and gauzy white curtains fluttering around the bed.

The new Draco pushed these aside and leaned forward into the bed, where Hermione could just make out, in the dim light, a Harry’s back turned to them, his messy head nestled against the pillows, the blankets pooled around his waist, the long curve of his spine. The new Draco put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he said, very low. “Darling.”

“Mm,” the new Harry said, and shifted his head, blindly seeking; the new Draco leaned down and kissed him, slow and warm. Hermione could see the breath he drew in next, the tension stringing tight through him. The Harry in bed asked, “How was the show?”

“Fine,” the new Draco said, “but I’m afraid we have some visitors,” and the new Harry sat up properly, the light shining full on his face.

Hermione drew in a sharp, painful breath. It wasn’t a Harry. It was her Harry.

Blinking and sleepy-eyed in the light, his hair messed, his shirt gone, but hers, she’d found him, and she flung herself at him without meaning to. Ron followed close behind and the three of them crashed down onto the bed, the new Draco escaping just in time. Hermione clutched Harry as though he was going to be ripped out of her grasp and Ron was gasping like he’d been winded - perhaps he had - and Harry said, voice thick with disbelief, “‘Mione?”

“We found you,” Hermione said. “We _found_ you. It’s been two months, you utter bastard--”

“What? I’ve only been gone ten days--”

“You haven’t, you’ve been gone for months, there’s all these different worlds and different times, it’s too boring to explain,” Ron rattled out, arm locked tight around Harry’s neck. Harry patted at their backs, looking a bit bewildered.

“But you’re _here_ , you’re here,” Hermione said, and then she leaned back, something sinking in. “You’re… here.”

Here, in an older Draco Malfoy’s bed, with the real Draco Malfoy standing by, his face wiped clean with shock.

Harry looked too, following her gaze, taking in the Draco he’d been kissing and the real Draco and the other version of himself, and got that look Hermione knew down to her bones, the one where he’d realised he was in trouble again, and was going to have to fight his way out.

“Er,” he said. The colour in his face was rising, but he tilted his chin up, defiant. “Could someone please pass me my pants?”

\---

Nobody seemed to know what to do after Harry reemerged from the curtains, now fully dressed, dragging his old scuffed up trainers from a closet and stepping into them. The new Draco was leaning against a wall, head tipped back, gaze absent. The real Draco was staring at the ground, ashen. Potter said, a little awkwardly, “Well, we’d better get going.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Er.” He looked at the new Draco, almost hunted.

“Run along then, kid,” the new Draco said, and after a moment of looking torn, Harry raised his head, set his jaw, and walked over to him. He leaned up and Hermione looked away. The real Draco was staring, something like horror settling over his face.

“Jesus,” Potter mumbled to himself. “All right, guys, everyone crowd in,” and they landed back in the Wood still shuffling a little awkwardly. Harry’s jaw was clenched tight.

“Hello,” Drazza said, wandering over with a bright look of interest. “Has something happened?”

“There’s... lots of me,” Harry said, and Hermione started halfheartedly to explain, not sure what to do besides acting as though everything was normal.

Ron wasn’t so good at it. “Uh, Harry,” he said. “Are you - you’re feeling okay, right? Not under an Imperius or anything?”

Harry looked mulish. “No,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“All right,” Ron said. “Only it’s just - that wasn’t quite what we were expecting, you know.”

Harry hunched his shoulders. He was flushing again, heat crawling up his cheeks. He mumbled, more to the ground than any of them, “He was nice.”

Clear as a bell, Draco said, “Potter, I am going to kill you.”

“What?” Harry said, looking up, and Draco lunged at him.

Hermione had clearly been spending too much time with weird, coupled up Draco and Harrys: for a moment she thought Draco was going to kiss him. Then she realised that Draco had knocked Harry into the dirt and was currently attempting to punch him in the face, and Harry was busy trying to punch him right back, and the two of them rolled over once and then again, straining to get the upper hand.

“Leave off,” Harry shouted, “you absolute psycho--”

“I say, something _did_ happen,” Drazza said, looking intrigued, and a few of the other Harrys and Dracos wandered over to take a look.

“We should stop them,” Hermione said, but Ron put an easy arm around her shoulders and laughed.

“I’m shocked it’s taken this long for someone to get punched,” he said.

“It is _creepy_ ,” Draco shrieked, grabbing at Harry’s shoulders and trying to bang his head back against the ground, “to sleep with a person’s alternate universe self, Potter!”

“He’s got a point,” Auror Potter said, and winced when Draco managed to elbow Harry in the eye. “Oof.”

There was a crowd of people around them now. Harriet cheered when Harry managed to get Draco in a headlock, but Draco promptly bit Harry and was set free with a yelp. “Aim for the groin, Draco, come on,” Malfoy said, looking annoyed, and about eight Harrys around the circle flinched instinctively.

“A fucking _jazz singer_?” Draco bawled, and headbutted Harry’s chin. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Potter said, and waded in. “Come on, for fuck’s sake, time to grow up,” and he hauled the two of them up and back by the backs of their collars.

“Let go of me,” Harry snarled, swiping at him, and Draco said, “Me too,” and then, when Potter did, immediately lunged forward again.

“Come on,” Potter said, and Draco said, “ _Stop touching me_ ,” and swung around with a wild fist, and there was a tiny, twinkly crash.

Everybody froze.

Hermione drew in a breath. Voice small, she said, “Was that…” and Potter reached into his pocket and pulled out the world-hopping orb: or what, in its splintered remains, was left of it.

\---

Draco’s nose kept dripping blood, a slow and steady nosebleed that refused to properly dry up. It meant he had to sit there sniffing, which he resented, because it was disgusting and because it made it sound like he was crying. He wasn’t, of course, and he didn’t want to; he was so full of fury and fear that there was no room for anything else. Every now and then he turned over the broken splinters of the orb in his palm. He’d nicked them out of Potter’s coat pocket. Potter had probably let him do it, but Draco didn’t really care.

“There must be something we can do,” Granger said, for the umpteenth time. The fire was burning low, and everyone was grouped around it again, looking sort of hollow-eyed and shocked. Granger’s hair had almost doubled in size and Draco thought if someone didn’t hand her a book soon she was going to explode. “There must be somewhere here where we could…”

“What, find a library? Make a new orb?” Abraxas hissed. “How stupid are you, little girl?”

“Bet you’re regretting tagging along now,” Malfoy told him icily, and jerked backward when Abraxas turned his cold gaze on her, glaring at the ground instead. 

“We don’t know the limits of this place,” Weasley said. “I guess we could go explore.”

Harry cleared his throat. It was awful that Draco even had to think of him as _Harry_ , like he’d invaded Draco’s head as well. There were too many Potters, though. This, Draco thought, was probably the worst day of his life. And he’d lived through a war. “Maybe - might there be other people about?”

“I hope not,” Draconis said. “I don’t know who we’d find.” He stared at his hands. “Pansy and Vince are going to think I’m dead.”

“We need to get back,” Drake said, nodding fervently, as though nobody else had thought of that. “I have to be back.”

“Oh, can’t miss your wedding,” Abraxas said, sneering. “Some of us actually have real things to do.”

“Yeah, too bad you can’t continue your despotic regime,” Granger snapped. “What a nightmare for us all.”

James said, “Is there any way of tracking how much time is passing in the other worlds? If I was gone three weeks then, is it…”

Potter shrugged, hands up and open on his knees. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know how, though.”

“You’re awfully casual,” Malfoy snarled, “considering this is all your fault.”

Potter looked tired. “What do you want me to do?”

“Fix it,” about eight Dracos and Harrys said at once.

“Maybe we should all try and get some rest,” Drake said, “and things will be clearer in the…” He paused, looking up at the dark, heavy sky. “Well.”

“I don’t care whether any of you get any rest,” Harriet said, “but if everyone could shut up, that’d be great.”

There were a few jibes after that, of course, but people did start to settle down, too hopeless to even fight for now. Hazza and Drazza came and sat on either side of Potter, settling in under the long folds of his coat and closing their eyes. Granger, Weasley and Harry formed their normal pathetic little circle and started whispering to each other. Around the fire, Harrys and Dracos leaned against rocks or trees or curled up on the earth or stretched out their legs. Veela Draco and Evans had disappeared; Draco was trying not to think very much about where they might have gone or what they might be doing.

He turned the broken splinters over in his hands again. The orb at the centre was still intact; it was the cage sheltering it that had shattered, and with it the switch that allowed them to jump from world to world. Draco flicked at the switch, but it didn’t even feel like magic, just dead metal in his hands.

After a while he felt someone settle in next to him. He didn’t look up, the parts spread in front of him in the grass, his hands hovering. He couldn’t quite bring himself to touch.

“Any luck?” James said. 

Draco still didn’t look up. He didn’t want to talk to any kind of Potter, and James worried him. He was too alert, too quiet. He didn’t really seem to be like the others. There was no sense of the Dreaded Potter Temper, just ready to rise up, that every other version of him had.

“Go away,” Draco said. “You depress me.”

James laughed low. “Sorry about that.” He didn’t leave.

After a moment, because Draco had never been very good at the silent treatment, he said, “If I could use magic I think I could fix it.”

“Don’t,” Auror Potter said, otherwise unmoving, his eyes closed, back against a boulder.

“I know,” Draco said, shooting him a pointless glare. “I’m not an idiot. I can feel it.” His wand hummed every time he touched it, and the air felt thick, almost slippery. Like oil, waiting for the spark that would set it alight. Every time Draco blinked he saw Fiendfyre licking at the Room of Requirement’s walls. “I’m just saying, I think it needs magic to fix.”

“Which we don’t have,” James said. He didn’t seem that bothered. Draco shot him a look out of the corner of his eye and leaned closer to the orbs. He touched two pieces together, hesitant. James said, “I depress you?”

“I’m sure this is hard to imagine giving the terrifying and evil version of myself running around in your world,” Draco said, “but I didn’t particularly care for life with the Dark Lord and I was - I was relieved that he was gone.”

“I can imagine that,” James said. “He’s really gone?”

“You killed him,” Draco mumbled, and didn’t look to his left, where a few metres away he was suddenly very sure that the Harry Potter from his world, the Harry Potter who he should know best and yet who seemed suddenly and incalculably strange, was watching him with bright green eyes. “I think you did in most of these worlds.” He glanced up. Harriet, her mouth curled into something a bit more worrying than a smile, nodded once. 

“Well,” James said, and let out a breath. “That’s something, I suppose.”

“Is it… is it very bad?”

“Quite bad,” James said, very calm, “but they haven’t killed me yet.”

Draco looked instinctively over to where Abraxas was watching, his face cool, unreadable. “Aren’t you worried that even if we send you back he’ll - he’ll get you, or something?”

James laughed. “I can handle him,” he said, amused, so Draco supposed that even in worlds where he was insanely powerful and crazy, Harry Potter was still better at everything. That was a miserable piece of luck.

“I’ve had bad luck, I suppose,” James said. He handed Draco the piece Draco had just decided he wanted; it was slightly warm to the touch, softer than Draco expected. “The other world I was in wasn’t particularly hopeful.”

“Yeah, you should have come with us when we went to the park,” Draco said absently, “or the club, I suppose… Well, no,” and he reached for another coil. “Have you even had a drink? Is it all just misery and living on the run?”

“There’s plenty of drinking in a resistance movement, actually,” James said, sounding amused. Then he added, “We went to New York, once.”

“America?” Draco wrinkled his nose. 

“It was nice,” James said. “We had this flat in Brooklyn and it was the end of summer, it was hot all evening. We just walked around and ate a lot and lazed around in the parks. A lot of margaritas,” he added, smiling.

“I’ve never been to America,” Granger said, proving once again that she was the worst eavesdropper in the world. “Did I like it?”

“That’s a weird way to gather information, ‘Mione,” Weasley said, amused.

“Oh, er,” James said. “Yes. You did.” He sounded hesitant. Draco wondered if that had been before the Granger in his world got the scarring Abraxas mentioned. He wondered if it was before the Weasley in that world had died, but didn’t quite dare ask.

“That sounds all right, I suppose,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. “Frightfully vulgar, though.”

“Of course,” James said, voice warm with amusement. “Here.” 

He handed Draco the next piece. Draco fitted it into place, turning the orb from side to side. His heart was suddenly in his throat. It was coming together. His palms prickled with sweat; he carefully placed the orb back on the ground, wiped his hands on his trousers.

“It’s all right,” James said. “Don’t panic. Keep talking to me.”

“Right,” Draco said, a little faint. “Right. Okay. Merlin.”

“Tell me about your world,” James said. “You’re young.”

“I’m eighteen, actually,” Draco said, faintly offended. “I don’t think you can say that when there’s a twelve year old version of me right there.”

“My mistake, you’re ancient,” James said. “And you’re out of Hogwarts?”

“No,” Draco said, “I’ve got a year left. My seventh year was - interrupted.”

“I never actually got to take it,” James said.

“Shocker.” A lazy curiousity blinked through him and Draco threaded the softer metal through the old frame; it held. He hissed his breath in through his teeth, but beside him James was almost humming, not quite, a low rough breath of a tune, and Draco could keep working if he followed the thread of the melody.

“Is it weird, being an - eighth year, then?” James said.

From the dark, Harry said, “He’s not the only one.” It was as though he’d touched his fingers against the nape of Draco’s neck and Draco startled, lifting his head and glaring.

“Don’t talk to me,” he said.

Harry looked back at him, unreadable. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said.

“You’re talking to me now,” Draco said, sneering, “and I’d rather you didn’t. I never want to talk to you again. I don’t want to talk to _any_ of the yous but especially, especially--” He stopped, dragging in a breath, and put the orb down before his shaking hands upset it. 

“Okay,” James said, like he was trying to be soothing. He wasn’t any good at it, with his frightening posture, the keen, sharp way he looked at Draco, and the fact that with him came Abraxas’s attention, which Draco could have done without. Draco sneered at him, too, turning away.

“Draco,” Harry said.

“And don’t call me that.”

“But it’s what everyone’s calling you,” Harry said, “and Hermione said it’s too difficult to tell everyone apart otherwise--”

“Don’t talk to me,” Draco repeated. “Problem solved.”

“Fine,” Harry said. He was quiet for about thirty seconds and then he said, in a slow, easy voice, “There’s light on the horizon.”

Draco’s head snapped up. Potter startled, knocking Drazza awake; around the circle, everyone turned as one, and Granger stood up, face lit up. Harry stayed where he was, settled cross-legged and watching Draco.

“The sunrise,” Drake said, voice filled with hope.

“No,” James said. He’d stood too, so quietly Draco had hardly noticed it. He pointed, finger sketching out the way the light wasn’t just glowing. It was flashing. “That’s curselight.”

“Actually,” Potter said. There was a weird note in his voice. “I think it’s both.”

“Put out the fire,” James said, and several of the Potters disappeared into the trees and came back dragging branches that they laid over the smouldering remains of the fire. Malfoy tramped over it with her solid boots and Drake scattered dirt over the glowing coals. Draco slipped the orb and its parts into his pocket.

The curselight was moving closer, and behind it, unmistakably, the sky was getting lighter. 

“Drake,” James said, “can you take Hazza and Drazza into the trees, make sure they’re safe--”

“Yes,” Drake said, looking relieved. Hazza was still fast asleep; he scooped him up into his arms and took Drazza’s hand, who stumbled sleepy and confused along by his side.

Draco could smell fire and heat, lingering like smoke in the air. He said, “I thought you said this place doesn’t like magic?”

“It doesn’t,” Auror Potter said, but next to Draco he was so tense he was almost trembling, his gaze fixed on the spot where, now that Draco focused, he could see the wizards who were throwing curses, black specs against the green hills, running fast.

“We should all split up,” James said, voice clear and commanding. “We don’t want to be waiting in a group. Go into the trees, if you can. Look out for each other,” and most of the Harrys and Dracos melted away into the forest, many of the Dracos running as though they couldn’t get away fast enough. 

“Don’t hurry,” Granger said, voice firm, “I think you should stick with us,” and Draco looked over to see her standing behind Abraxas, her wand jammed in the small of his back. 

Abraxas turned slowly, empty hands raised, half-amused. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s okay,” James said, “he’s not going to risk anything here, it’s not his style.” Abraxas bared his teeth at him; James looked unmoved.

The loose circle of them who were left - Draco, Potter, Granger, Weasley, James, Abraxas, and, unfortunately, Harry - looked at each other, and then at Auror Potter, as though waiting for a command only he would give. As though they shouldn’t all know better by now, Draco thought bitterly, and then Potter started to run, toward the curses.

For lack of any better ideas, the group ran with him, until Potter let out a shout of joy and put on a burst of speed and, as they came cresting over the next hill and running down towards them, Draco recognised his own face.

The Draco running was out in front, firing curses over his shoulder. His face was bright, his hair wild, and behind him was a crowd of faces Draco took in with a sinking heart: Radolphus Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr, Walden Macnair. Behind them were a group of ragged looking wizards that Draco didn’t know so well but vaguely remembered as Snatchers from the war. They were shouting in hoarse voices to each other, and the curses that they were throwing left streaks of hot flame through the air, catching and rippling in the air. The ground was shaking. Draco had a very, very bad feeling about this.

But Auror Potter was practically throwing himself down the hill and towards them, and he was laughing like a maniac. “Draco!” he yelled. “This place doesn’t like magic!”

“I worked that out, you fucking moron!” the other Draco bawled back. “But unlike some people I paid attention in Ancient Runes!” And he threw something over the rapidly closing gap between them, something that caught the glowing light of the sunrise and toppled in circles towards Potter, something that Potter jumped up and caught with a yell of triumph: it was a wand.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Potter shouted, and the red jet of light that shot out was as steady and safe as back in Draco’s own world, which was to say - not that safe at all. It caught Lestrange full in the chest and he toppled backward, sending Snatchers scurrying out around him. Potter turned back, grinning, to the rest of them and yelled, “Better run! You can’t trust your wands!” and then the group was upon them.

Draco ducked four curses and nearly tripped. Everything was a breathless stink of bodies, like a collision, and in the middle of it all Potter and the new Draco were laughing breathlessly, flashing in and out of existence, Apparating past and between each other, rounding up the group. They were good, Draco saw in one sudden instant, they moved as though magic was a Quaffle they were tossing between them, they fought like breathing, like dreaming. Then a curse hit his arm and he sucked in a breath as his skin split, a long angry cut down his forearm that began, almost belligerently, to bleed.

“ _Run_ ,” Auror Potter yelled again, and Draco tried, stumbled, nearly got hit by another curse, his head reeling, all the violent chaos of battle around him. Merlin, he was going to die, he thought; he’d only escaped dying in the war because he’d been able to hide, to escape, to give in to all his cowardly instincts, and now he was right in the thick of it, and then Harry grabbed his wrist and Draco had no choice but to run, because Harry was dragging him with him.

They pounded over the wet grass, bright with dew in the newfound morning. Between gasping breaths and dizzy vision Draco caught glimpses of Weasley and Granger running in the other direction, kicking Abraxas ahead of them. Draco’s chest hurt, his arm was stinging, his teeth chattering. He tripped, and abruptly James was on his other side, catching his elbow.

“I’ve got him,” Harry snarled, and dragged him limping into the first outcrops of trees and then deeper into the woods. There were people behind them, laughing and calling out, and they kept running, dragging through bracken, thin branches whipping them in the face, Harry pulling him along and James just behind him.

There was a hissed whisper and the unpleasant sting of a curse nipping at Draco’s heels. He stumbled again, chest heaving. Everything was overwhelming and loud; he thought, _we’ve got to be free of them now_ , and then Harry threw him up against a tree. 

Before Draco could yell in outrage he saw the curse, a flash of green slicing at the branches above them where it would have sliced at Draco. James, frowning, said, “That’s enough,” and turned around, slipping quiet back through the trees.

Draco stared at Harry, whose arm was braced against Draco’s chest, his eyes bright with the battle, a long fresh cut over one cheek and breathing hard, watching close over his shoulder. He wasn’t looking at Draco. Draco could stare just as much as he wanted.

“What about Granger and Weasley?” he said finally.

Harry’s gaze slid back to him. He was flushed from the run. He said, “They can look after themselves,” and Draco stared at him, unable to move, unable to properly catch his breath.

He said, “I guess it’s lucky for me you couldn’t bring your boyfriend back, and had to settle.”

Harry scowled. “Shut up.”

That was familiar ground, at least; Draco thought he could even muster up a sneer, and did his best. “Hit a nerve, did I, Potter?”

Harry looked furious and embarrassed. Draco was viciously pleased. Then Harry said, voice rough, “He liked me, that’s all,” and took a step back, leaving Draco slumped and staring, the bark digging into his back through his shirt.

James came back through the trees, giving them a curious look. “All clear here,” he said. “Got him.”

Draco blinked. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use magic,” he said.

“I didn’t,” James said. Draco stared at him. “We should start making our way back, carefully. Let’s take a different route through the trees.”

“Right,” Draco said. He kept sneaking looks at Harry and getting caught, Harry’s face grim and determined, his gaze intent. Draco rubbed his hand over his face. He felt - very flustered. “Yes. I suppose we should make sure Abraxas hasn’t used the confusion to kill anyone.”

“He won’t do that,” James said.

“You seem very sure,” Draco said, sour.

James shrugged. “He’s smart. He knows he has to get out of here. He’ll use whatever he can to get out, but there’s no need for him to kill anyone yet.”

“Comforting,” Draco said, glaring.

“And he’s a spy,” Harry said, looking a little sulky himself.

Draco’s head jerked round. “What? No. What?”

“That’s an interesting idea,” James said, face skeptical.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, he’s something. Otherwise why would you two be together?”

“ _What_ ,” Draco said.

“I don’t know where you got that idea,” James said. Draco whirled around and stared at him; James’s face was still amused and impatient, but - there was something about his eyes, the way he was holding himself. He looked careful.

Harry shrugged, still scowling. “You knew how to distract Draco so he could work,” he said, nodding at Draco. “And I think it was him you went to New York with, I saw him smirking about it. You might as well tell us. It doesn’t matter _here_.”

“This is ridiculous,” Draco said. “You’re being ridiculous. Abraxas is - I saw him torture someone. James, tell him!”

After a moment, James said, like each word was a minefield, “We’re quite used to keeping it hidden, that’s all.”

“ _What_ ,” Draco said.

“I figured,” Harry said. “Sorry if I blew your cover or whatever.”

“He _tortured someone_ ,” Draco said, because nobody seemed to be listening to him.

“He did what he has to do,” James said, swinging around and glaring at Draco. “He was torturing a Death Eater, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but--”

“He has to,” James said. “If he doesn’t he would have been suspected a long time ago. He does his best!”

“But he said he killed Parvati Patil!” Draco couldn’t wrap his head around it. “He came up and rubbed it in your face!”

“He knew I’d have to know eventually,” James snapped. “And he knew I’d want to know what had happened since I was gone. And if he killed Parvati, it means that the Death Eaters couldn’t torture her and get information out of her, and it means that nobody would have - have done anything awful--”

“But he’s _crazy_ ,” Draco said.

“He’s not.” James was glaring, back straight, face lit up with fury. “He does his best. He doesn’t let his guard drop anymore, not ever, and he doesn’t like it when he doesn’t know what’s going on, and he hates being trapped, and we’re _all_ trapped here.”

Draco stared. “I don’t see how you could stand it. He’s--”

“You don’t know him,” James snarled. “You don’t know what he’s had to do. And it’s my fault, I’m the one making him do it, he wanted to run away - he _still_ wants to run away, but he knows I won’t go with him and - and - I think I would have died ten times over now if it wasn’t for him. Don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t know what he’s done.”

The three of them stood silent. James was breathing heavily; Abraxas _was_ crazy, Draco thought defiantly, and then he realised that James was probably a bit crazy too. He looked at Harry, who blinked back at him, apparently a little startled by what he’d unleashed.

“We should go back,” Harry said, and when they started walking he fell into step beside Draco, their shoulders knocking, and murmured, “They’re both nutters, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Draco said waspishly, unnerved and settled at once to have Harry agreeing with him.

\---

There was about ten minutes of chaos, where Hermione was trying to remember how to avoid getting killed without using magic, and then another five minutes which felt suspiciously like an outtake from _Home Alone_ or something, where she and Ron were throwing rocks to imitate footfalls and tripping stray Snatchers over with fallen branches and Abraxas leaned against a tree making bored, derisive comments. It helped that the magic the Snatchers were using kept backfiring on them: at least one just disintegrated into nothing, screaming, and more of them knocked themselves out.

Hermione and Ron grabbed two between them and dragged them back into the clearing as the noise starting to quiet, Abraxas strolling behind them. They got back in time to see Potter knocking out Macnair with a last curse and then turning, eyes bright, to where the new Malfoy was striding towards him.

“Draco,” Auror Potter said, and the new Malfoy seized Potter’s coat lapels in his fists, stared down at him, something fierce and demanding in his face. He wasn’t particularly handsome; there was a strained, inbred look about him, and his smile had too many teeth. His gaze raked over Potter like he was checking he was still in one piece. 

“Right,” the new Malfoy said, “let’s not do that again.”

The others were slowly coming out of the trees, drawn by the renewed quiet. Most of the Snatchers and Death Eaters were on the ground, tied up or stunned. A few were dead. Hermione spotted her Harry coming out opposite her, with Draco very stiff beside him and James following behind. 

“No,” Potter said, grinning, still a little breathless. “How did you find me?”

The new Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Like always,” he said. “I followed the path of mass destruction. I’ll have my coat back now, thanks.”

Potter shrugged out of it and handed it over. Malfoy draped it over one arm and they stood there for a moment looking at each other. The new Malfoy’s grey eyes were very warm.

“You’ll need a nickname,” Potter said, looking around and gesturing as the others slowly came closer. “There’s lots of us, see. I’m Potter, but there’s already a Malfoy,” and he nodded at Malfoy herself, who looked quite bored at the appearance of yet another version of herself.

“Well,” the new Malfoy said, “I guess I’ll just have to be Black.”

\---

Draco wasn’t sure whether to be gratified or once again reminded of his own inadequacy by the fact that Black was very clearly in charge. He bossed James around into helping tie their prisoners to trees; he bossed everybody else around into settling down “next to everyone from your world, idiots! Quickly now!” He bossed Potter around ruthlessly about everything and everyone, and Potter just followed him around grinning like an idiot. It was all very sickening.

Black didn’t seem particularly worried by the news that the orb had been broken. “Let’s see the damage,” he said, and Potter looked straight at Draco, so Draco supposed his theft hadn’t been so sneaky after all. He fished the orb out of his pocket and came forward a little reluctantly. It was warm to the touch.

Potter said, “But Draco, this is - look, he’s--”

“Yes,” Black said, eyebrows raised. “This is quite good work.”

Draco glared. “Thank you. I can check being condescended to by myself off the list. It still won’t work, though. It needs magic.”

“Actually, it needs this,” Black said, and produced a tiny golden spiral. Despite himself, Draco sighed; it was so perfect. It clicked neatly into place, and the whole orb shivered and slotted itself back together.

“That was the problem,” Draco said, and reached out. The orb was humming to the touch now, brimming and eager with its own magic. “No wonder we couldn’t control it properly…”

Black nodded. “When me and Harry - sorry, Potter - found it, it was in two pieces, to stop it from activating. But we got it jammed, see, and--”

“Yes,” Draco said, touching it again. “It wasn’t a switch after all. It was a broken piece.”

“Exactly,” Black said. “So Harry - _Potter_ could jump around but not control it and not aim for anywhere or anyone in particular, and I had this bit, which had the aim but not the ability to jump worlds.”

“How did you get here, then?” Draco said, frowning.

“Oh, I worked it out,” Black said. “Tinkered around with it a bit, worked out some of the rules. It wasn’t particularly smooth but it worked, only then _that_ lot grabbed at me when I was testing it out and - well.”

“Here you are, though,” Potter said, smiling at Black. Black dropped him a wink, so fast Draco almost missed it.

“Yes,” he said. “And we can send everyone back, too, but it takes a few hours for the portal to stabilise, as far as I can tell. So everyone keep back!” he added importantly. “I don’t care how desperately you want to go back to your own worlds, if I could wait six weeks to get here you can wait a few hours!”

Potter’s eyebrows went up. “Six weeks?”

“We can discuss it later,” Black said quietly, but his hand went to Potter’s elbow again, pinching the fabric of his shirt like he wanted to keep hold of him.

The air was still thick with the reverberation of the magic which, Black told them, he thought might also have set off the daylight. Draco returned, a little annoyed, to sit with the others around the remnants of the fire while Black and Potter set up the orb; it let out a whine and then sat still on the grass, not appearing to do anything, but Black looked very satisfied and after a while they could see the shadow of an outline beginning to appear against the grey sky. Something that looked rather like a door.

“That’ll solidify in three hours or so,” Black said, checking a heavy golden watch that Draco vaguely remembered having turned down when his father offered it to him as too ostentatious. “So.” He sat on a tree stump, and Potter folded neatly up by his side. Black smirked. “What now? Truth or dare? This is like school camp. If we’d had a school camp, obviously.”

“We went to a boarding school,” Potter said, rolling his eyes. “The whole thing was a school camp.”

“But Granger says that the Muggles go off and _actually_ camp and do team building exercises and canoeing and things,” Black said, looking faintly envious. “What have you lot been doing?”

“Fighting, mostly,” Drake offered.

“What are we supposed to do?” Harriet said, eyes narrowed. She was probably the most bad-tempered Harry Potter they’d come across, which took some doing, Draco thought. “Just because you two are freaks who want to hold hands or whatever--”

“Oh, we wouldn’t do anything as gauche as that,” Black said. “Technically we’re on the clock and we’ve received several firm reminders about appropriate workplace behaviour.” He flashed a smile at Potter, who looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. He looked about and blinked. “Hey, version of me! Why are you all scarred?”

“Ask Voldemort,” Draconis said, face pinched and annoyed.

“That’s very interesting,” Black said. “I suppose the prophecy got reversed, did it? Born to those who have - obeyed him or something--”

“Oh, yes, it’s all fascinating stuff,” Malfoy said. “Just what I wanted to do for a weekend, meet all the weird versions of myself. They should advertise this as a getaway.”

“Zey should advertise it as a _prison_ ,” Francois said, sneering, who clearly couldn’t translate sarcasm.

Black laughed, a great happy shout of it that slightly startled Draco. Beside him, Harry murmured, “Bit manic, that one, isn’t he?” and Draco nodded, then shot him a quelling look, because he didn’t like to agree so easily. Harry watched him, quiet. Draco didn’t like this rule about sitting in groups with other people from your world; it felt specifically designed to punish him. Granger had looked displeased too, but Harry had just quietly slouched next to Draco. Harry kept looking at him.

“You must go to Beauxbatons,” Black said. “What about everyone else? Hands up who went to Hogwarts.”

Most of the hands went up. Veela Draco said, “I came a little late. They were worried about me... fitting in.”

 

“Nearly caused a riot when he did join in third year,” Evans said, way too fondly.

“I suppose that’s how he got you,” Harriet said, eyes narrowed.

“No, he hated me,” Veela Draco said, a little dreamily. “He got mud in my hair. Several of the professors cried.”

“Gross,” Harriet said. She and Malfoy were furious about being forced to sit next to each other. They kept jostling their shoulders and elbows; Draco thought he’d seen Malfoy pinch Harriet a little while ago. There was plenty of room on the log they were sitting on, but that didn’t seem to be an acceptable solution.

“This is such a fun game,” Abraxas said, soft and cruel. He and James had stayed standing, James straight-backed, Abraxas leaning against a tree, arms folded. Draco couldn’t make sense of what James had told him. They barely looked at each other, and Abraxas’s eyes were bright with malice. “Let’s see what else we have in common. Hands up if you got brutalised by Potter in sixth year.”

Most of the Dracos raised their hands; Draco did too, feeling weirdly sheepish about it. Francois looked confused and a little horrified; Drake said, “ _What_?” Evans had gone pale and was holding Veela Draco’s hand tight, protectively close, though Veela Draco only looked confused. And transcendentally beautiful, obviously. 

Beside him, Harry mumbled, “I actually never got to apologise.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco said, horrified. “Please don’t.”

“That’s a stupid one,” Malfoy said abruptly. “Let’s at least blame the Potters when they _knew_ what they were doing. If you ask me the hair thing is worse.” She nodded at Veela Draco.

“It said _for enemies_ ,” Potter said, voice even. “I think we knew.”

“But you stayed,” Malfoy said, face pinched and uncomfortable. Harriet was staring at her.

Potter blinked. “In… Hogwarts?”

“There,” Malfoy bit out. “In the bathroom.” She looked around at the blank faces. “She - he didn’t stay in your worlds?”

“I bolted,” Harry said quietly.

“I - tried,” Potter said, pained, “but Snape yelled at me to get out, and -- Harriet stayed?”

“I thought she was dying,” Harriet ground out, her arms folded tight over her chest. “I wasn’t going to run. Snape tried to make me, of course,” she added.

“Well,” Potter said. “That’s--”

“She still did it,” Malfoy said, in a swift change of tack. There were two high spots of colour in her thin cheeks. “Let’s not all get ahead of ourselves. My tits are still _ruined_.” Harriet was flushed now, too.

“All right, yeah,” Drake said. “That was a fun game. Maybe we can all bond over almost killing Dumbledore next--”

Abraxas raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t kill Dumbledore?”

Harry flinched. Granger mumbled, “There’s a big surprise.”

“Oh, I can’t be the only one,” Abraxas said, his mouth curved, mocking. “I had more hope for us.”

“You’re not the only one,” Black said lightly.

Everyone stared at him. Black raked his hand through his hair. His face was unreadable. Potter was watching him, quiet and serious.

“I really do think canoeing would have been more fun,” Black said.

\---

The shadow-door was solidifying, crackling around its edges. Hermione couldn’t stop staring at it; God, she wished she had some books, though Black had been surprisingly helpful and given her a good list of things she could look into when she was back at Hogwarts. It felt ridiculous to research something after she’d experienced it, but she wanted to understand.

Draco kept looking at it too, though decidedly more nervously. He licked his lips. “Are we sure that’s safe?”

“You liked tinkering around with that thing,” Hermione said skeptically. “You don’t want to use it, now?”

“It’s rather different,” Draco said, clearly trying to sound cold and mostly coming off worried.

“Better than sticking around here,” Hermione said, glancing about. The circle had dissolved. James was sitting next to Ron on the ground, his eyes fixed almost hungrily on Ron’s face as Ron chatted to him. Veela Draco was comparing French braid techniques with Malfoy and Francois. Evans was playing a game of Exploding Snap with Hazza and Drazza, who seemed to have their own rules. Harriet and Abraxas were both sitting a little away from the group, though not together, glowering at their respective Harry and Draco. Black and Potter were striding around, having hushed conversations and looking very important, but, Hermione suspected, mostly just enjoying themselves.

Hermione didn’t want to talk to any of the others, not even the other Harrys. She didn’t want to leave her Harry’s side, so relieved to have him back even the way she’d found him. He seemed calmer in any case than he’d been just before he disappeared, quiet and sure of himself. He wasn’t talking much.

_Everything’s okay, isn’t it_ , she wanted to ask, but Draco was right there, and Harry didn’t show any inclination of wandering off. Hermione was trying to come to terms with that, too.

“So if the time thing is all unstable,” Harry said, “we could end up - what, years in the future?”

Hermione flinched. She hadn’t thought of that. “It seems to mostly work with weeks and months,” she said. “But even so…”

Black overheard, walking past. “No, now that we’re using it properly it should stabilise and recognise the time you’ve spent in the Wood as real time. You’ll only have been gone - what, two days?”

“What about the rest of us?” Drake said, face tense with worry.

“Can’t help you,” Black said, almost kindly, and wandered on. Drake went back to picking at his nails and gazing, with almost embarrassing longing, at the solidifying portal.

“I was really gone two months?” Harry said. Hermione nodded. Her throat was tight. Harry let out a breath. “It didn’t even feel like a week.”

“Time flies when you’re fucking a nicer version of me, I suppose,” Draco snapped.

“I shouldn’t have - he wasn’t nicer,” Harry said. “Not really. He just - he knew what he wanted.” He stumbled to a stop, made a face. Draco stared at the ground, absently pulling out blades of grass. His cheeks were pink. Harry drew in a breath, threw Hermione a pained look, and went on with his horrible, awkward determination, “I wasn’t very nice to you, in school. Obviously. I don’t mean in general, I mean - this year.”

“Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater, right,” Draco said bitterly. “Suppose you felt you had to keep an eye on me, keep up your reputation as the great hero of the wizarding world.”

“I guess I thought that,” Harry said, and drew in a breath. “I told myself that.” He cast a quick, agonised look at Hermione, the way he did when he wanted her to finish one of his essays, but Hermione was starting to have the rapid sinking feeling that she shouldn’t be here. “But actually I think I - I think I--”

“Potter,” Draco said. “Please don’t--”

“What?” Potter said, turning around.

“Not you,” Draco said. He was going pink. “Harry.”

“I think I’m offended,” Potter said, and winked at him.

Harry frowned. “Did you two--”

“No!” Draco said. “I’m not as creepy as you! He’s just a bit - a bit - a bit grabby.”

“Oh my god,” Hermione said. “I knew you had a crush on him.”

Draco glared. “I don’t.”

“You don’t need to sound so disgusted,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I get it, obviously, you’re furious with me, even the fact that he’s hot can’t make up for my personality--”

“He’s actually not very much like you at all,” Draco snapped. “I thought he was but he’s not the same and I--” His face flushed again and he stood up. “Excuse me. I’m going to go bang my head against a wall.”

“There’s no walls,” Harry said, eyes bright.

“Plenty of trees, though,” Hermione suggested, and sighed, lying back against the grass and resigning herself to an annoying future.

\---

When the portal was finally ready about three Harrys tried to make a run for it at once, and Black had to wave his wand around threateningly until everyone calmed down.

“Orderly line, please,” Potter said, grinning widely. He’d managed to get Black’s coat back somehow and looked very pleased with himself. “Draco’ll say when it’s ready.”

“Yes, I just can’t work out quite how it works,” Black said, fussing around with it. “It’s - let me--”

Draco twitched, desperate to be gone. He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to Obliviate himself. He wanted to ask Harry what he wanted, what they’d done. The other version of himself had been better looking. There was something hot in Harry’s gaze, though, lingering on Draco, like he was hungry. He didn’t look disappointed; he looked, in a vaguely terrifying way, hopeful. Draco twitched, shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Okay,” Black said, frowning, ducking around the portal to view it from all sides. “I think this should be Drake’s world?” Drake stepped forward, face lighting up. “But I can’t work out how to tell for sure - we should probably test it with something inanimate--”

A shadow fell abruptly through the portal, reflecting someone unseen. Black went silent.

“Well,” Potter said, wand out and held aloft, “that’s… not great,” and then a new Harry shouldered his way through the portal, batted Potter’s wand aside like it was nothing, and went for Drake like a thunderstorm.

Drake flung his arms around the new Harry’s shoulders. He was smiling, face lit up with it, and he turned his face against the new Harry’s neck and said something too quiet to catch. This Harry was taller, Draco noticed, faintly interested. Hazza said, very loudly, “Aww!”

“Where the hell have you been,” the new Harry said, and then, looking around, “I - why are there so many of you? And of me?”

“It’s a very long story,” Drake said.

“It better be,” the new Harry said, glaring. “ _Three days_ , you utter prick,” and Drake’s shoulders relaxed, all of the tension leaving him in a rush.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve missed you. This seems quite straightforward, Black,” he added, “thanks for everything,” and then he tugged his Harry back through the portal and they disappeared with a low, pleasant hum.

Black blinked. “Right,” he said. “All right, that works, apparently. Okay, come on then, one at a time,” and he started sending them back: the redhead Harry; Draconis almost twitching with impatience to get back to his Horcrux hunt having picked up some tips from Granger; Francois sniffing hopefully as though he could already catch the scent of French cooking; Veela Draco and Evans, holding hands, with several of the Harrys left staring mournfully after as Veela Draco stepped lightly and gracefully through the portal, his hair flashing out like a flag behind him. Harriet and Malfoy scuffled over who got through first, and ended up tumbling through with Harriet’s hand tight around Malfoy’s wrist and Malfoy’s fist clenched in the front of Harriet’s shirt.

Abraxas sneered at James when it was their turn. “Sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?” he said, voice mocking. “You’re probably less likely to be killed.”

“Thank you,” James said quietly. “That’s okay.”

Something changed in Abraxas’s face, so swift and controlled that Draco almost didn’t catch it. Abraxas said, “Well, go on, then. I’ll give you a head start if you’re good,” and James ducked his head and squeezed Weasley’s shoulder one last time and went on through.

The portal hung warm and welcoming in the air, and then it was just Potter and Black, and Hazza and Drazza, and Draco and the golden bloody trio.

“You guys go through,” Black said. “I think we’d better take Hazza and Drazza back ourselves and explain to an authority figure so they don’t get expelled.”

“Oh, yes, you’d better,” Drazza said. “We’re on our final warning.” He smiled beatifically.

“Yeah,” Potter said, and stretched lazily. “But then we’re going home. I’m ready to clock out,” he added, and eyed Black up in a faintly offensive way. Black didn’t seem to mind.

“Got to deal with those first,” he said, nodding towards the tied-up and stunned Death Eaters. “Mind on the job, Potter.”

“All right,” Granger said importantly, stepping forward. “Come on, Harry. Ron. Malfoy,” she added, rolling her eyes and apparently pleased to be able to call him that again.

They moved forward. Weasley and Granger looked relieved, dark shadows of exhaustion under their eyes and, now that Draco was close enough to see, the grey light of their own world casting clear shadows against their faces. He peeked through the portal. It was raining.

“Well,” he said.

“Take care of yourself,” Auror Potter said, and held out his hand. “I promise it really does get better.”

Draco hesitated. Then he took Potter’s hand and shook it, firm and warm around his fingers. Black smiled at him. “Good luck.”

“Come on,” Harry said. He was frowning.

“Right,” Draco said, and stepped back through into his world.

The portal was gone, not even the hint of it left in the air. Granger rubbed her face and said, “Harry, we’d better go talk to Professor McGonagall right away. We have to send word to Shacklebolt, too--”

“And my mum,” Weasley added. “Everyone’s been out of their minds with worry.”

“Right,” Harry said. He looked about, a little uncomfortable. His shoulders were slightly slumped. “Right. Yes. I - Draco--”

“It’s raining,” Draco said. “I’m going inside. I’ve had enough of you for a lifetime, I think.”

He turned sharply on his heel and walked back towards the castle. The rain was cold and slick on his clothes, slipping under his collar. Draco’s hands were shaking again. He would write to his mother, who might have also noticed he was gone if McGonagall had done the correct thing and informed her, though given the awful way this blasted place was run, Draco had no confidence she had. He could make plans to see Pansy in Hogsmeade this weekend. He needed to catch up on the study he’d missed, so that he could get back to his dreary life and not give a professor an excuse to expel him and follow up on that strained promise, that maybe after school it would be better. He’d spent three days surrounded by every possible type of Potter; he didn’t need to see him ever again.

Halfway across the lawn he turned around.

Harry was already walking towards him but he sped up when Draco turned. He looked just the same as ever, his green eyes bright, his mouth too big, his sharp cheekbones giving him that look of permanent hunger. Draco had spent three days surrounded by quite a few Potters who were even better looking, but it didn’t help: he wanted this one. He always had.

Draco caught at Harry’s chin and kissed him, Harry’s arms around him, Harry’s glasses knocking into his nose, Harry’s sweet rush of breath that caught in his chest. Draco tangled his fingers through Harry’s honestly ridiculous hair and let Harry take quiet hold of him, his hand fisted in Draco’s shirt, his fingers skimming along Draco’s jawline.

They broke apart, breathing raggedly. Harry was smiling, slow.

“I suppose we’d better give it a shot,” Draco said, acerbic, “given that apparently everyone else has.”

“It’s good,” Harry said, and tilted Draco down into another kiss. “I’ll show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's very hard to tie a story like this up without at least a couple of loose ends (or like..... a fistful of 'em) so feel free to head over to my [tumblr](http://dddraconis.tumblr.com/) to ask me about any of these cute dummies xo


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